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. 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 your mind swirling tornadoes, for your soul pouring down on me like drizzle and going deeper down my skin, like love. I wasn’t ready.
I couldn’t inhale the life force in you, let your vitality pump in my veins, let you remove my every fright, refresh my heart, and renew myself wholly. I wanted to be fierce and strong and new, but I was my own prisoner, baby, and 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’s between me and what I hunger for. I want to burn so fast now, and I can’t do it while you watch me. It was all my fault – if I hadn’t caught fire yet…”