Destructive Love

There was a time when no matter what was required I would rise to the occasion. Desperately aiming to please others. To please my love. My soul. Well, their soul. Apparently, so displaced I sometimes lost sight of what was my own, I retired the idea of my self-worth. Bowing as indication of submissiveness and need for acceptance yet no acknowledgement. Still treated as subservient. Beneath anything of value to be owned by the likes of your love. So the time I would spend making sure we could grow beyond the depths of our imagination, slowly fizzled. Sparks flared and dissipated due to neglect: my neglect. Neglecting myself. Allowing the notion that my energy could be ignored and my love was nothing but coal. Losing the so called love of my life was well worth the sacrifice in order to revive the dying entity of my own individuality. No longer wishing to suppress my desires in order to climb the ladder of adore someone never intended to have me reach the top of. Sure the tears escaped my eyes. I thought the end meant the destruction of everything I loved when the reality was, the destruction was already done and I’m in the process of rebuilding atop a new foundation of purity. They left. Returned. Left. Returned. Further validating that I was not the major issue. I was not the monster so many peeked under the bed in hopes of finding. I was once again allowing poison to be ingested. Once again to be infected. Allured by charm and expensive things. Yet the dismay was not of me but them. They say people change. I believe that as well as some people never do. I guess I’ll die another day. Thankful of escaping the pain of false loves blaze.

  • Alex N. Wanderland