Prose

I Get It…


Okay…I get it. I really do. I am alone. It’s on me. All of it. I accept full responsibility for the denial we’ve existed in for so long. I’m sorry I kept you hanging on, I’m sorry I didn’t have the balls to tell you sooner. I’m sorry I was weak. I ask you, though…to understand my position. The fact I would still rather die a slow and painful death then hurt you. The fact that if you insist on hanging on, I’ll never go…forcing us to relive the death, the rebirth of the lie, and the murder of two hearts that deserve so much more than we are able to give to each other.

I know you like the comfort. I get it. I know you like predictability. Routine. The trusted and familiar. All those things that have been killing me slowly. I need you to know that I tried. I need you to know I’ll shoulder it all. Tell your family, your friends, that it was my fucked up head that brought the walls down. I can take it. I’m good like that. You know this.

I know you were still planning. I know you didn’t have a clue. I get it. Again…my fault. So many secrets to be found in the silence you mistook for contentment, never noticing the color draining, my spirit dying. I asked, so many times…for soul food. The only time your laughter was sincere.

So yeah…put it on me. I get it. I’m the fuck up. At least I’m not a sadistic bitch who insisted on taking you down with me.

Fly little bird…the world is yours…I get it.

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