I'm Sorry I'm a Problem

I think I’ve made that awful transformation from person to a thing. But not just any “thing” - a very troubled and unsolvable problem. I am so sorry to have become a riddle in your hands, a song with incoherent lyrics spilled lazily into the caverns of your ears. I never meant to be an issue that needed fixing, but if you might take the time to repair me, and return me to my wholesome ways, I’d be eternally grateful. I just might love you properly. And wouldn’t that be the most beautiful thank-you present?

is that a risk you're willing to take?

I had hoped when I showed you my scars and cuts, that you might kiss them and find a home within them. I hoped that you might settle deep into my flesh and blood so that I might take you with me into whichever afterlife I’d find myself entombed to. Of course, it would be your choice to join me in either Heaven of Hell. Is that a risk you’re willing to take?

Nobody warned me about you.

And nobody told me that, at some point, I would have to release you back into the world that chewed me up and spit me out. Nobody took my gnarled hands and whispered that I’d have to let you go - let you go in all of the ways I had attached myself to your being, your soul. It just happened, like lightning striking a tree, turning a flame into a wildfire that destroys everything in its heated path. Sure, there were storms, warning signs. You stopped seeking me out, you stopped responding to my messages. You no longer wanted to hear my voice, you avoided me at all costs, as though I was the worst infection you’d ever come across. Still, I had hope that you would realize that what we had was special, that what we had was worth fighting for. But as the storm subsided, and the fire raged on, it became quite clear that the only realization you’d be making was that life was better without me. And nobody warned me about this kind of torture, with blue eyes and soft hair and sweet kisses. Nobody warned me about you.