We played such a beautiful game and I lost so disastrously. Every trap, every bite, every time you dug your claws under my skin and drew blood with your malice, it will follow me till the day I die and leave you with a story you could never share. I hope you are proud of your legacy, and for your sake, I pray that victory tasted as sweet as you dreamt.
Some days I look at the happy strangers in our old photographs and wonder what happened to them. I wonder why I keep wanting to say I’m sorry when I’m still so angry about the past. It’s like learning how to hate something you love out of self preservation. I guess you’ve turned me into a coward too, so afraid of getting hurt that I insist on delivering the first strike, as if that will make a difference. I worry that karma will never leave us alone and we’ll be doomed to repeat this curse. I fear that you’ve dealt a blow so deadly I might spend the rest of my life regretting our last kiss.
Sometimes I feel sorry for you and all the others who will never experience the exquisite pain of loving someone who only dreams of leaving. I tell myself that I will survive this, and though a life tolerated is different to a life lived, the ending will always be the same.
But if I could kiss you again, the boy who set my world on fire and watched me burn into ashes; I’d be sure to soak my lips in poison, and promise that your final memory will be the sweetest.