literature

dear you:

Deviation Actions

Published: Feb 21, 2015

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Literature Text

i don't love you.
or - maybe i do.
i don't know anymore.
i've heard it said that love and hate are so close together,
you can't tell them apart.
and i read once - we both did -
that in the moment of killing someone besides yourself with hatred in your bones,
you love them.

so you must have loved me,
then.
i did.

and so you tore and tore
and my heart healed after years around a wound shaped like
the teeth that cut it open. i will bear this
mark of you until i am
old and gray;
i will pass down the stories of how to know
who and who not to lay trust into;

i will teach the children of my children how to tell a broken heart from one that is so very, very cold.

i was willing to forgive the feel of ice among my bones once --
not twice, nor thrice,
nor everything in between. you were like a drug.
you killing me over and over again
was the rehabilitation i needed to show me that
i am stronger than what you have made of me.

i loved you, once.
i did.
but now it's shifted over that oh-so-very-thin line to hatred,
and i'm not going to cross back over.
you can cast me your broken smiles,
shattered eyes all you want; my feet are planted firmly
in the roots of what i believe in.

i do not believe in you,
not anymore. you no longer reside in my soul
where you once held court for so
very long, and i'm not sorry, i am angry --
you are no longer here to decide your own fate,
not even your voice,
so pack your piles of pieces of you from the corners of my conscience and leave.

a brain will not replace its lost cells;
the imprint you left upon my memories will be there
for an infinitely finite lifespan.
you have shaped me - quite literally -
into what i am today, and i love and hate it
in the same way i love you and hate you.

you are a part of me, but i want to break free.
i am ready to forget.