I loved you in ways that I’m sure you’ll never be loved again.


Back then you were easier to love.

Did you grow out of your mask, or did I re-adjust my glasses?

Maybe you succumbed to your changing environment.

There was happiness in our union that you decided to seek elsewhere.

Was I not good enough?


Your indecisiveness complicated us.

Did you want to stay, or did you want to go?

You’re not dumb.

You know that it is impossible to exist in two different places at once.

But still you tried.


I battled quietly.

I remained peaceful.

I was hurt and confused and delicate and sorrowful

There was emptiness deep inside of my belly that I could feel ache whenever I opened my mouth to speak.

You did this to me.

I remained peaceful.

I battled quietly.


Then I spoke a little louder.

I carefully used my words to bandage the wound that was our love.

Each time you responded with anger.

I met you with patience.

You still shut me out.


I tried to meet your resistance with love.

I tried to tell you that what we were doing was no longer love.

I tried to tell you that your confusion was no excuse for hurting someone you claimed to love.


If you didn’t want to be with me, then why didn’t you stop telling me that you loved me?

Why didn’t you stop bringing up memories of our sweet past?

I told you to make up your mind but instead you lost it.


Rinse and repeat.

Rinse and repeat.

Rinse and repeat.


We danced this tango until my feet grew tired.

Then came the explosion.

You helped build this anger, so why were you confused when I finally roared?

You were such a great architect of pain.


Tell me.

How does one build destruction?

This post is part of Write Your Ass Off April, a Twenties Unscripted 10-Day Writing Challenge. I’m inspired by these prompts, the masterpiece entitled “LEMONADE,” and a collection of men that have wanted to lay me down but not pick me up. I hope you enjoy the journey.