a letter to the painful

I never thought you’d leave but maybe that was my greatest flaw. I couldn’t imagine a day where you’d disappear. Willingly. I believed us to be unbreakable and at the end of the day I was the hammer that shattered our porcelain shelter. I had pictured it to be stronger. To absorb more force than the swing I threw at it. And yet, it rained down so peacefully, like the leftover sparkles of a starry sky. Slow, easy, mesmerizingly simple. But the shards pierced me. They sliced into my eyes and strangled my throat, leaving nothing but blackness in its wake. It seemed to only dust the rest. A peaceful snowfall of the shattered remnants of hopes and dreams in another person. But I picked up the glue. I swung the hammer and stood beneath the avalanche. It was me. It was always me, yet the entire time I believed you to be the one holding the wand of power, the talking stick, the building blocks. Perhaps that was part of the problem. I silenced myself and I exploded, shattering my most precious things to bits all around me, all around you.

I’m sorry for your pain, I’m sorry for my own. Yet the sorry I keep dragging from my aching lips doesn’t dig me a tunnel out of the pain that’s seemingly buried me; tactfully and carelessly, slowly and methodically, yet as quick and drastic as a monsoon. And I lay here drowning in my own tears and fears, searching for the very comfort that I destroyed.