Fact or Fiction

Sometimes I wonder if your as sad as I imagine you to be. Sitting alone and thinking about all of your regrets.

And a part of me hopes it’s even more painful then just that. That it’s a wrenching pain in your heart that haunts you in the back of your head at every moment of your life. Like the way you words haunt me.

They whisper in my ear to remind me how to fail and how to not live my life they way I want because it’s pointless to waste that kind of life on someone like me.

Sometimes I wish you knew the pain I held for you. The pain that masked itself as normality but in reality it was a disease you infected me with since childhood.

The kind of pestilence that crawls under your skin and sinks into your bones and changes fundamentally the kind of person you become.

Sometimes I hope it sickens you.
Sometimes I hope it’s worse.

Sometimes I wonder how I could have been so wrong. You were everything to me and I was everything to you, right? Because people like that wouldn’t help you build walls and secretly plant bombs inside so that later you can watch me fall apart. Right?

You watched me tear myself down. You watched me pick myself apart and bleed out from my cuts. Someone that close to you wouldn’t sit beside you as your cringing in pain and hand you a knife to help you make the wound even bigger. Even deeper. Right?

Like the time you came to find me and I was sitting on a bench and you sat next to me. All I could do was keep my arms wrapped around myself so all the broken pieces in my chest didn’t fall to the floor.

Trying to keep myself together after the worst heartbreak I’ve ever been through you tell me how you saw this coming the whole time. But if you saw this coming, why didn’t you help me?  Because if there was anyone who could have helped me it would have been you.

Sometimes I hope all of this finds you one day. Hope these words fill your head with all the doubt, all the pain, all the hatred that you filled me with until I couldn’t breathe. Until I couldn’t see. I couldn’t see the good that was in front of me because all I’ve ever been taught was to reject everything I was and everything I ever wanted because I’d never be enough.

Like every comparison made was just another injection in my brain to flood my thoughts with why I will always come up short. And you were always better.

And even though it was never said out loud it’s like you agreed with them because you went about your life like it was fact and could never be fiction.

But what is a fact is how this fiction blinded us to the reality that was set before us.