“He used you," said the psychic with a look of disgust.
He What?
"He used you.”
But, wait!
What about all those magical nights, when the starry indigo sky exposed our souls - intertwined - endlessly wrapped in each other’s arms and dreams - believing we were stopping time? It was so real, so authentic – nothing less than Truth.
"He used you."
Nope.
I wanted to scream in her face - You are Wrong! You are Confused! Your crystal ball is cracked! (even though she was spot on about every other aspect of my life).
"He used you."
A part of me knew she was right. (I hate that part). That part of me that still finds it hard to breathe when I think about the sucker punch he slammed into my heart on the last day I ever saw his face again.
A perfect swing right through my soul, as a goodbye (good riddance?) gift.
“He used you.”
Time Heals. Shut up.
Anger and betrayal are the hardest to let go of - as if I’m hanging from the wing of a moving airplane, holding on for dear life - not trusting my own strength.
"He used you."
I won't let go until my red hot pride ceases to fuel my stubborness and anger. I won't let go until he feels the same humiliating, soul sucker punch that I did. I won't let go until endless, sleepless nights consume his mind as he obsessively tries to figure out how he could've been so wrong.
Then I can finally release him, and us, and all of it – the shame the shame the shame - blow it all away with one deep sigh! Like a dandelion ****** upon the wind.
"He used you."
But, he loved me.
"Yet, he used you."
He used me?
He. Used. Me.
I wish she had never mentioned it. Because he always said he loved me.