I tried to tell myself I was strong. That what you had done, the promises you had broken, the lies you had told never hurt me.
I was strong.
You weren't the air that I needed to breathe.
You weren't the food I needed, or their nutrients to prevent me from falling into a total state of deterioration.
I came into this world alone.
Nothing is wrong if I leave alone.
Right?
Then why was it, that after I left, I felt a complete sense of loss?
Why was I consistently telling myself I was strong, because I knew that if I stopped, I would lose it?
It's because I wasn't strong.
I wasn't what I projected onto others that I was, or the words that spilled out of my mouth like a steady stream of encouragement.
The truth is, I loved you.
I think I still do.
Or the thought of you hugging her, the melanin of your skins rubbing together, the mingled breaths right before you take her breath away with a kiss, wouldn't hurt.
It shouldn't hurt.
I was the one who walked away, yet it felt like you were.
The pain wasn't immediate ; I numbed my feelings to the point where I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to get any back.
You hurt me.
You killed me.
Atleast, that's what it felt like.
I cut you off for two whole months, yet you didn't even realize. You were too caught up in the way her hips swayed that way, or the way her lips moved this way.
It got to me.
Somewhere, I knew there was all the pent up emotions, waiting to come out. I bottled it up.
I broke.
I cried my soul-which had somehow found its place-raw. I cried. The tears were so long overdue that they were white instead of clear, mixed with salt and forbidden feelings.
But I cried,
Even though it burned my eyes,
I cried.
Even though I got my humanity back,
I cried.
Even though it made me feel weak,
I cried.
Then I began to heal.
I forgave you, and slowly let you in again.
Not completely, but you're in my heart again. Somehow, some day, we'll be happy.
