Serendipity

Was I born a masochist or did society make me this way?

Tag: hate

156

I keep trying to wipe you away but every time the mirrors fog up I see the messages we used to write for each other and it seems like my heart learns how to break all over again. I was a fool to squeeze the words out of you, but now your voice plays tricks on me in the dark, and I’m still not clever enough to see you for what you are.

I keep remembering the boy who told me he was scared of loving me, and I still blame myself for not taking his fears seriously. I should have questioned what dark secrets you were desperately guarding, and why you had been alone for so long in the first place. I want to go back and tell the stupid girl that love doesn’t fix everything and point out all the warning signs. All those times I had defended you in front of friends, and pretended that anger and jealousy were your ways of showing you loved me. I walked right into the trap, right into your arms, right into the fire. Finding sleep is always a battle now and most nights I wake up wishing I could dream of you, because only  your illusions are safe to touch.

I don’t cry anymore and the last boy who tried to wound me only received an empty smile, because you can’t break a broken heart. But damn, no one ever told me that keeping new scars away doesn’t stop the old ones from hurting. I tell my friends I’m in recovery but some days I feel like I’m still sinking and the nightmares never end. Sometimes I wish I had the wisdom to drown in that lake, when we were still beautiful and you would always see me that way. I wonder if you really believed I was strong enough to rebuild a castle out of all this rubble, or if part of you enjoys watching me fall for your lies. 

I thought I could replace you with softer lips and sweeter kisses, but going home with him never did mend what was broken inside. Warm bodies never replaced the chill you left, and I was still envious of the stranger who was sharing your bed. I thought I could forget you if I learnt to lie still in the dark and fall in sync with his breathing, but I think he left early because I mumbled your name in the morning. I’m still fighting invisible monsters and all this make up doesn’t make me feel beautiful the way that you did. You made me feel beautiful once, then you whispered the same lies to a younger fool. I thought I could forgive you and I’ve tried and tried, I’m still trying not to curse your name when they ask if I’m fine. 

You thought we could be friends but I was right in the end, I’m always right in the end.

You were the fire and I was the ice. You taught me love and I showed you spite. You’ll burn the rest and I’ll melt away. You’ll love another and I’ll keep the blame.

153

i am creating a revolution
with skin and bones
still unbroken, untainted by scars that threatened to win

i am cleaning the residue
stained memories
silent evidence of who we could have been

i am drawing a picture
frames of disjointed past
seeking redemption for mistakes you pushed me to make

i am living a life
with no shoulders to lean on
tired of the blind leading the blind

i am hoarding sins
no one is here to save me
from the masochist who craves destruction

i am composing melodies
lullabies don’t lull me to sleep
the way your voice did

i am fighting fire
with fire
tearing down walls of insincere apologies

i am cheating death
leaving only ashes
to deal with unanswered questions 

i am luring loneliness
carved from leftover heartache
it will take more than a lifetime to forget me

137

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.

112

Maybe one day this won’t hurt so much, and I’ll remember the good stuff, only the good stuff. But for now, I don’t know how to begin to forgive you. Maybe I want us to hate each other because I can’t bear the idea of wasting the best years of my life loving someone who won’t love me back. I’m beginning to doubt my memories, and I wonder if I invented our ambiguous intimacy simply out of loneliness. I can’t imagine you ever loved me, I only know you took such care to hurt me in memorable ways.

Maybe one day we’ll see each other again and we’ll order each other’s favourite coffees and smile because we still remember. Maybe we’ll sit down and laugh about all our mistakes. Maybe when the scars have faded I’ll be able to look at you again and you’ll still be the boy who allowed me to dream. Maybe some day we’ll both forgive each other. But for now, it’s going to hurt. I will try not to think of you, and I’m sure you’ll be better at not thinking of me. But when you do, when you think of me, you won’t remember how lovely I could be. When you hear my name it’ll be attached to pain, hate, spite, and all the things that make good men break.

Yet I’m sorry to say, if we saw each other again and you asked me whether I still cared, I’ll have to lie to hide my shame. I would laugh and say I stopped loving you a long time ago, and I never miss you at all. I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of breaking my heart twice.

But don’t look me in the eyes, or the truth might escape.

I hate you more than anything; I love you anyway. 

111

I remember the night when I clung to you like a child and cried hopeless tears of goodbye. I was trying to tell you something but you wanted to hear something else. My words came stumbling out in an incoherent mess, spoken in the tone of emptiness and regret. I wanted you to understand that I chose you, that I didn’t give a piece, I gave you everything. I tried explaining that every time I loved someone they took a part of me when they left, and I wasn’t sure I would ever be whole again. I was terrified of losing the last part of me I still owned, but that was the very reason you couldn’t stay. People only want a slice; eat the whole cake and you’ll feel sick.

When you apologised it made me furious. When you claimed you were trying to save me from myself, I wanted to hurt you for the first time. It was indecent, easy comfort, and you were telling me lies because they sounded better. Piece by piece, I strung together the cruelest words I could find, and threw them at you in a futile attempt to prove there was no love left. I thought I could tarnish the good memories enough to erase the pain.

But now it only takes the stars to make me think about calling you. I tell myself you’re sleeping, or working, or out with your friends. I note all the possibilities that would ease the pain of hearing your voicemail except the one cold, hard truth: You don’t want to hear from me; you hate the sound of my voice.