Your hands on mine, your fingers caressed my own — as if you were memorizing every bump, every line. It’s as if you were healing me, erasing the scars from the last time I picked up the pieces of my broken heart.
Your touch travelled from my fingers, to the back of my hand, to my heart.
The bolt of electricity hit me.
I realized they got it all wrong — it was a mistake all along.
It was never a spark. It’s a shock wave of feelings. It’s a wave that would consume you. You’d want to breathe but you’d soon realize it wasn’t possible. You tried to fly, but you’re in the deep end of the ocean. Chained. Stuck. Scared. But, in a twisted way, you loved it.
You willingly breathed in the water. You embraced the uncertainty and let it fill your lungs. You drowned yourself in the make believe world of tiaras, unicorns, and shiny pots of gold.
You looked at me and I knew I should’ve run.
Away from you.
But you looked at me and I melted. I blindly followed you like my master. Yes sir, will do sir.
Maybe this was just a test? Good things come to those who wait, right?
I knew it was wrong. Everyone around me knew it was wrong. But you had this effect on me, I got addicted to the coldness. I craved the harsh words. I longed for our fights, I looked forward to each scream, soaked myself in every insult, and bathed in the skewed way you see me.
I rationalized everything. Maybe it was a test? Maybe if I stayed, it’ll improve? Maybe it’s a rite of passage — staying through the worst to earn the best?
I rationalized and romanticized.
I rationalized, romanticized, and died inside.
Romance. Rationale. Death.
I didn’t feel like myself anymore. I became the image of me you created. I looked at my reflection and paused. I wanted to know that person. What happened to that person?
Roam. Chase. Died.
I roamed around the uncharted territories of romance, chased the wrong person, and killed logic in the process. I refused to see reason, to listen. I overlooked the signs.
Until I was left there, crippled — a mist of what I used to be.
One look and I knew it was done. The screams became whispers. Soon, they became murmurs of a tragic tale used to warn others. Don’t lose yourself. Be careful.
The murmurs became imprints — a scar, a badge, a mark of survival.
Another line to caress, to hold, and to heal.
It wouldn’t be from you or anyone else.
It’d be from me — a form of redemption, a wake up call.
Because when I looked at that mirror and heard my plea, I decided to free myself from misery.
I was done being your puppet.
I took my final bow as a fool.
In the end, I let you go despite our intense, passionate, and crazy kind of love.
Our love was so all consuming that it consumed you, me — us.
I let you go because even though I loved you, I had to respect me.