04-09-2015, 02:48 PM
I know he is following me.
That is a lie.
It is. I had no idea my shadow knight was lurking beyond my sights within smoldering trees and old embers. I stop at the sound of weak leaves cringing beneath his weight and slowly turn my head. I see him like a girl sees a distant relative—there, memorable, but yet if he were to hate me I wouldn't blink twice. We have grown so apart, so distant. He is another ant in a very large colony and I cannot for the life of me make it matter.
Cry, god damn it. Hurt. Be sad.
I am a plateau. Nothing phases me like it used to. It is like my world—once vibrant and colourful—had dulled into a black and grey hue. The birds of beautiful tunes had dulled into an arrogant whine, and the elegance of a water stream had burnt to an aggravating rattle of rocks and dribbling.
I wish I could hear him think. I long for telepathy right now—let me hear you, let me feel you—though what good could that do? What scares me most is why has he come to me, what has pushed my cold father to reach out to me in a way I forgot he could.
He thinks I am unaware of secrets lingering in his mind, but I am smart.
“You wouldn't know different.” I say because it’s true, he wouldn't. He has sheltered himself in a thick layer of Leave Me Alone and I did. I ventured from his gaze, I wandered from his reach, and so he wouldn't know. I don’t mean it aggressively. I mean it exactly how it sounds; matter of fact, a sentence, a statement. Something to fill the air which has grown so uncomfortably thick.
The word “we” hurts me. I take a deep inhale in, as if the air around me is any reassurance to where this conversation is about to lead. Well, I leave for a time and a half and he already has another soul filling his heart. Was it so easy for him to forget? Was I going to be like mother, now? I flick my gaze from him in protection of myself; I would never allow him to see my insecurities.
He hasn't earned that right.
“And to whom do I owe the thanks for ‘missing’ me?” I don’t know why I ask—do I want to be sad? The question is opening my heart to daggers. It is exposing my back to a honest answer of lions growling and snarling in the back of my mind. We all have secrets, we all have something to hide; but to hear what we have to hide, it is another thing. My father and I have been breaking apart like dead ends from smooth hair. Our personalities are like the heat of a straight iron, constantly crashing and burning together until the strands of our relationship break off like brittle lies. I want to apologize—make him forget who ever made I, we.
I regret asking. I regret coming back to what I once called home.
But isn't it best to be slapped with the truth than kissed with a lie?
That is a lie.
It is. I had no idea my shadow knight was lurking beyond my sights within smoldering trees and old embers. I stop at the sound of weak leaves cringing beneath his weight and slowly turn my head. I see him like a girl sees a distant relative—there, memorable, but yet if he were to hate me I wouldn't blink twice. We have grown so apart, so distant. He is another ant in a very large colony and I cannot for the life of me make it matter.
Cry, god damn it. Hurt. Be sad.
I am a plateau. Nothing phases me like it used to. It is like my world—once vibrant and colourful—had dulled into a black and grey hue. The birds of beautiful tunes had dulled into an arrogant whine, and the elegance of a water stream had burnt to an aggravating rattle of rocks and dribbling.
I wish I could hear him think. I long for telepathy right now—let me hear you, let me feel you—though what good could that do? What scares me most is why has he come to me, what has pushed my cold father to reach out to me in a way I forgot he could.
He thinks I am unaware of secrets lingering in his mind, but I am smart.
“You wouldn't know different.” I say because it’s true, he wouldn't. He has sheltered himself in a thick layer of Leave Me Alone and I did. I ventured from his gaze, I wandered from his reach, and so he wouldn't know. I don’t mean it aggressively. I mean it exactly how it sounds; matter of fact, a sentence, a statement. Something to fill the air which has grown so uncomfortably thick.
The word “we” hurts me. I take a deep inhale in, as if the air around me is any reassurance to where this conversation is about to lead. Well, I leave for a time and a half and he already has another soul filling his heart. Was it so easy for him to forget? Was I going to be like mother, now? I flick my gaze from him in protection of myself; I would never allow him to see my insecurities.
He hasn't earned that right.
“And to whom do I owe the thanks for ‘missing’ me?” I don’t know why I ask—do I want to be sad? The question is opening my heart to daggers. It is exposing my back to a honest answer of lions growling and snarling in the back of my mind. We all have secrets, we all have something to hide; but to hear what we have to hide, it is another thing. My father and I have been breaking apart like dead ends from smooth hair. Our personalities are like the heat of a straight iron, constantly crashing and burning together until the strands of our relationship break off like brittle lies. I want to apologize—make him forget who ever made I, we.
I regret asking. I regret coming back to what I once called home.
But isn't it best to be slapped with the truth than kissed with a lie?