23/02/2021 - 04:57
The months passed by me as I stared at the lines on these pages, trying to read between and fill them with weighted words that would convey to you the ways in which losing you broke parts of me I hadn’t even found yet. Trying to form adequate enough phrases to express the pain that you unknowingly delivered by thanking me for being a chapter in your story. Somehow, after all this time, I thought I was finished breaking the spine of my identity to bend my pages to a way that would fit comfortably within your palms.
A chapter in your story. As if the entirety of loving me could be summed up with one single word; condensed to a series of tangible pages you could easily turn without a second thought. I envy you of that, because while I was only a few of your pages, you were equally the protagonist and antagonist in every single one of mine. My co-author; the person I longed to write all my stories with. But you wrote me into your life in pencil, and I was never that guarded. I always dove in headfirst when it came to you. Eighteen-thousand, one-hundred and ninety-two hours later, I still find myself drowning in the blackness of the permanent marker of you that is scribbled across the pages of my life. The types of stains that stay put no matter how hard you try to scrub them away.
Despite all the darkness, I still strive to encompass gratitude that to you, I was nothing but a chapter. The way those words flowed off your tongue in such simplicity; like loving and losing me hadn’t scarred your soul and fractured your identity the way it did for me. I’d never wish that for you. I'd never wish to burden you with the weight that comes from constantly stumbling upon the cracks and chips left behind by another person. Struggling to grow around them like an English Ivy that's been robbed of the sun’s comforting rays; but despite every fracture, I could only ever want the entirety of the world's light for you.
So yes, close our chapter darling, place it on the top shelf of your memory and keep your guilt stored within its pages. Console yourself with the knowledge that I have never been dependant upon your admissions nor needed your permissions to continue fighting my way out of the darkness you left behind in the back of my mind. I will do it in every single chapter, on every page and between every word. Now take a seat darling, for from the ashes of what was once our library, one day, I will rise.
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