There is no subtle way for me express how much I shudder at the thought of causing pain those I love.

I had always wanted to believe that if my life was a murder trial, i was always the victim.

Partly because i really believed it, but mostly because it helped me convince myself that no one would ever feel have to like a part of them had died because of me.

I wanted to believe that I was always the one being left,

no the one leaving

but I’ve had a lot of time to think,

and I’ve been thinking that,

I’ve left a lot of people.

The name of the last persons I will ever abandon is a name I will never be able to say out loud ever again.

Her existence epitomized the world, “unpredictability”

in the sense that you saw valleys and stars when you looked at her

but when she unclothed her jacket

all you saw was the most extravagant form of self impairment.

She claimed that she wanted nothing but the raw truth

but I knew that wasn’t true

because no one unstable really wants the truth

But I still decided to give it to her anyway

I took the truth she had asked for

Took out every bit of sugar i’d used to coat the truth with for the past years

and as I sat it on my lap, I could not help but notice how oddly disfigured it looked in my lap

I guess i never really understood what my truth looked like till that very moment

i carefully set the truth on the table,

I think we can all guess what happened next

Breaking of flower vases,

flipped tables,

ruined plans

and me wanting nothing but to get myself out of that ticking time bomb.

So I did.

And despite her texts full of apologies and voice mails consisting of a choked up voice and desperate pleas,

I never returned ever again.

“The truth will set you free” is an epigram I have probably heard and read atlas a few hundred times in my life.

Well, I’m not gonna stand up here and say that that is false.

Because the truth will set you free.

But only will it set you free after it has wrestled with your heart till you don’t know the difference between laughter and a cry anymore.

only then will it finally feel like it’s done with you

and let you go.

I used to think that I could write my way out of anything.

But turns out no matter how great a writer you are,

you can never fabricate the happy ending to your own life.

I knew leaving her had been a clear mistake

when I realized that I no longer had anything to write about.

I sit down, ready to purge out all the words that precisely depict the depth of what i’m supposed to feel inside

But I no longer can.

Because i don’t have that passion I used to have when she was in my life.

And I had never regretted anything more

than the that night I realized that all the most precious things in life

I had never bothered to look at until it had already melted.

The worst part was I could feel the melted water trickling down my arm,

I tried to catch all the droplets of water,

they fell to the floor,

and only then did i realize

it was too late to save those droplets now.

I knelt down and tried to clean up the the mess she had made,

or no, the mess i made.

last night,

for the first time in 13 months,

I put her name in my mouth.

it tasted so bitter,

I had to spit it out.

so maybe, all the tedious conversations,

about her so called undesirable fixations,

all that her words did to make me feel the worst aggravations,

was really what made my path worth walking.

Maybe she was never able to breathe underwater because she was always too busy finding air for me

I guess id dint know back then that nothing worthy was supposed to be easy.

and now I nope to be able to swallow her name and the guilt that comes along with it

it may be toxic, but now I can’t dot anything but hope that Emily Dickinson was correct when she said that

“Unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality.”

Because if that’s true,

then I’ll see my friend again,

in heaven above.