Four days ago: You swept me off my feet, M. Literally. So I got back up and ran, as fast as I could.
You wear your ruins well. When I look at you I feel proud, though I didn’t shape a bone in your body. You’re beautiful, but still I got away. When I was broken, you taught me how to run and in turn I never stopped (today, I crave to curl up under the sheets and play hide-away like we don’t mean it one more time; like you’d reach me if you stretched and I’d feel you if I tried).
You never should have trusted me. You’re real, and you expected me and my trauma to go together like milk and cereal. Instead, the more I tried to cover it up because you tried too hard to see its depth, the less authentic I got. We ended up bad, M. The truth is that I used you as a hiding place and you pulled my hand to make me stand tall and walk proud. We never matched.
I didn’t come to you to rescue me, to talk me through or to get better. That’s what people like you don’t understand. I didn’t want your helping hand, I just wanted your shoulder, and you only wanted to stitch me back together. I needed a secret place and you were my favourite one. But when you pulled the curtains and the sun got in…
I was never angry, I just couldn’t vibe with you. I was on dry land and couldn’t keep up. You were a free man and I wasn’t, and none of your tricks could have freed me. Freedom isn’t given, it’s taken.
Victim of my own definition and the rules I lived by, I was no magic fountain for myself, so I decided I’ll leave you and go west, or south, or east or north or wherever it felt warmer, safer at this time of my life’s year.
I wasn’t ready for your cool breezes, for mind swirling tornadoes, for changes and livelier heartbeats and your soul pouring down on me like drizzle and going deeper down my skin, shaped like love. I wasn’t ready.
I couldn’t inhale the life force in you, let vitality pump in my veins, remove my every fright, refresh my heart and renew myself wholly, to be fierce and strong and new. I was my own prisoner, baby, that’s why you couldn’t have me.
I ran away, M, don’t hate me. At the end of it all, I’ll know who’s the girl behind the image, who’s the beast behind the girl, and I hope it’s all the strength that you saw.
For now there is no harbour here. I feel only restless. It is between me and what I hunger for. I want to burn so fast there won’t even be time to think about it once more.
It was all my fault — if I hadn’t caught fire yet…