You don’t get the priviledge to say you know her

You used to know a girl who loved and adored you with her whole being. She stood behind you with every shitty decision you made, she had your best interests at heart, she truly saw the man you could be, and she relentlessly defended a man that you’re not. 

Your wicked words of rage and daily demeaning remarks forever etched tiny crevasses in her mind. That over time grew into these canyons of self-doubt, depression, and misplaced loyalty. She would be loyal to you over her own self; even if she saw it with her own eyes, you could convince her otherwise. 

This love you say you have for her was at your convenience and you would quickly take it away. Your love wasn’t organic; it came with such a steep price tag. Your constant wheel of emotion always kept her proving her love to you, as you did whatever you pleased. It usually left her on a floor somewhere with tear stained cheeks wondering how she was going to make this relationship work again.

Once the dust settled you’d come to her with an apology based on how she could’ve reacted/acted differently. It was never you who raged, who screamed obscenities, punched, ruined stuff, carved into drywall with your keys, pushed, or acted in any other ridiculously crazy way. It was always her. She was the piece of shit, a bitch, a cunt, a bad mom, a shitty friend, disgustingly fat, a whore, a slut, ugly, self-centered, psycho, a manipulator, cold hearted, and evil. The root of your rage.

She stood there watching the rage take place like so many times before, unable to move or speak for fear of retaliation. This time you noticed the distance & she didn’t peer at you in concern; no, she peered at you wanting this tantrum to be over so she could finally move on with her life. This time you threatened suicide, you raised the stakes.

She looked at the glass pipe and through it to you in the corner crying, rocking, and talking to yourself. You then told her to fix this you would slit her throat; over and over you said it.

She stood there looking at a man with no love for himself. How could you ever love her? Did you ever love her? Or, was this the guise for the shitty things she found out about that you did behind her back? She was the one who was supposed to be mad and hurt, not you.

Her heart and soul were almost too big for her body & when they broke it was in a catastrophic way, debilitating her mind and body. This time was different, though. You would never again get the chance to be near her to slit her throat, physically assault her, or verbally rape her while spitting in her face.

The vigorous love she had for you, she used it to heal herself. She took all the pain you inflicted and chose love. Those canyons of your hate, they get filled with the brightest pink light of love and one day they will be whole again.

She still chooses love, like she had with you, only it’s self-love. So, fuck you. When you think back on the times she stayed just so you could pull her down and beat her soul to a pulp again, she won’t feel that pain or loss only you will. 

Her aura, that you so desperately seek, will elude and haunt you. You won’t feel her touch in your darkest moments to comfort you. Her contagious laugh will never fill your ears with the sweet melody of melancholy. Her lust for the small things in life will remind you everyday how much her presence is missed. When you peer at a sunset, knowing she may very well be doing the same thing, it won’t bring you peace or the comfort she did.

So, when you decide to try to bombard her life, remember you don’t know her and you never will.💕🤙🏽

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