Hurt

I am still healing. Healing the wounds that you reopened the moment you stopped walking. Walking away is what you do best, after all. Although… this time, you stopped as if you actually heard my cries. Cries I couldn’t stop, and cries that had never stopped you before. Before everything… before the whispers you baited me with swelled in my heart and made their way into my blood. Blood poured down my arms as I said prayers to whatever entity could- no, would- bother to hear a wretched souls’ desperation. Desperation had been the kindle, but the passionate flames that grew were a result of the “love” I had manifested in my own delusions. Delusions? Is it really delusional when the person in front of you is clearly sending mixed signals, even though no one’s looking? Looking at you was looking at home though, even if I was willing to ignore that fact that this home as toxic. Toxic foundations reflected toxic hearts though and I could’ve never fixed this without tearing you down. Down came my walls though, because I could never break through yours… and eventually, that was my inspiration. Inspiration was like stardust; hard to find until I untied the weights that kept me grounded to you. You always thought that I wouldn’t notice the chains if you called them bonds, but while chained to your walls I found courage in the grout between your bricks of malice. Malice that I couldn’t let consume me, but once those chains rusted I could break free. Free of the wounds you caused, and so began the healing. Healing myself wasn’t easy… but neither was loving you.