I’m disgusted at the thought of ever having loved you. You move about the world as if you're some sophisticated relic from a time long past, a boy in tailored suits that you still drown in, hair slicked back like the Outsiders kid you wish you were. You robbed me of my wide-eyed years, and turned me into a shadow, with my hair falling out and my knees bruised from too many nights on wooden floors, fingers clasped, praying to God to give you back.
Your religion was your dedication to sadness, gray skies and sleeping your days away, but mine was the pursuit of joy, and trying to be sunshine enough for the both of us. You latched onto that girl, fingernails digging into my shoulders, throat sore from saying everything you knew would woo me... until you had me. Roses that November night because you knew they would make you look good. But that corsage I found in our closet, right on the top shelf, those flowers were for Vanessa, wholeheartedly. Her tiny wrist was adorned with your love, the roses I got you on a random January night wilted because you never watered them. How I wished for even a fraction of the gentleness I know you had, holding her hand, decorating your perfect girl. How did I know that my fate was never to be the same?
I am so glad you made it to the final stage! Your so strong!