Just tell me that you hate me, or lie and say you do. Maybe then, it would be easier. The truth is I’m tired—of feeling too much, of needing to feel so much, and of failing to feel anything at all. The way you had carved yourself into my chest has now left a gaping void far too great to fill with any remaining shred of compassion. The truth is I’m tired of pretending that love persists here. Once, it had burned as brightly as the sun and we chased after it with violent hunger for tenderness. But endless questions and unsaid answers spewed from the pandora’s box that loomed over our heads that the space we share has grown far too small to coexist. The hushed howls inside our heads led to their undoing. Still I fought valiantly in this war while you watched behind the walls you’ve created just for me. Coward. Fool. Now you’ve gone where I can no longer reach you, and you’ve taken with you the million shattered fragments of my heart. I hope they pierce through your skin the way your cruel indifference scorched mine.
