effluvium

more … more than I’ll ever know … that’s how much you love me (just spoken) but what the hell does that mean? how do you know that I’ll never know how much you love me?? I mean, thanks … thanks for the rather underwhelming appreciation for the capacity of my heart because it’s damn brutal ambiguity to follow a “Dear John” address with and it’s a pathetic cliché with which to ameliorate your conscience … I can no longer count the times you’ve threatened to leave - holding “goodbye” to my throat like a rusty old dagger and now when you finally DO, your greatest concern is in making sure you minimize your guilt I mean … enough already just get the dirty deed over with but no … instead you dangle that syrupy phrase like a misplaced preposition and the distorted irony is that you wouldn’t know love if it bit you in your bloated ego thus, even a smidgen would qualify … so … how ‘bout you do me a favor? take back the condescending, sentimental hogwash trade the rusty blade for Damascus steel and run it straight through that way your scruples have a new high water mark, my regrets will be clear, and neither of us will waste any more precious time on this passive-aggressive nightmare we call a relationship … but, just one thing: I want to FEEL it this time - I want to know our “Us” is extinct so make sure the knife is clean … and make damn sure … you twist it. Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, March 5, 2024