good riddance

I guess it’s time to admit that I still ponder where you are; how you’re doing, if you finally decided to live for yourself, if you ever stop to consider how I might be. 

Why? Well, would it not make me as bad as you if I didn’t? 

I could say that my curiosity has been snuffed out wholly, but that would be a lie and dishonesty is unbecoming. Then again, we never had the same standards of virtue. 

Hindsight holds no surprise that I was forthright to a fault, until your baggage buckled me up too. Lost somewhere between martyrdom and sanctification, I retreated so far inwards that I became a conundrum of symbolic self-immolation - wanting to preserve myself, yet destroying that girl with far more fervor instead. 

It’s true that you commanded me to let you cope on your own, but you never could acknowledge that love is an action word, and occasionally looks like shouldering a heavier attaché. The present now pleads with me to understand that you never wanted me to carry yours because reciprocity was incomprehensible for a mind so resigned. A thirsting flower would still result in wilting petals if being watered came with scoffs.

Understanding beckons with a promise of maturing; knowing that a feverish kind of love isn’t love in purity, and I can make peace with knowing that I loved myself eminently all the while. What you were was what I chose, for better or worse. Cards in my hands, finger on the trigger. Who’s to say if you’ve ever thought that deeply about any of it; history would shake its head in disappointment, and so would anyone else that took you for a wise man.