I’ve forgotten how to tell you all these wounded things without the weight of my bloody tongue to drag you down. I’ve forgotten how to tell you about the echoes of countless whispers in the dark to the you I still hope exists. I hope you exist. Sometimes I want you to be someone else. I don’t want to know what this means.

I built an altar to the memory of a man, monolithic and omnipresent. You were everywhere in me, haunting my bones. The work of worship and the paralysis of fear pinning me, excuses for all the wrong I did to myself. You evolved into something I don’t recognize, the pyre I sent you out of my soul on still burns me when I look too deep. I will never acknowledge what I know this means.

It’s cruel to love a man for his potential and not for what he is. I see so much in you, icebergs in a frozen sea, the violence of hidden life churning beneath. Do you still hide from me? I would. I am selfish and unfair, I feel it in my soul, my newly cleansed soul still skulking around afraid to allow for the possibility of success out of the fear of failure. I deserve to drown never knowing the truth of you so long as this cowardice rots my spine. I know what this means.

I have let fear make me cruel and complacent and I have never been so disgusted or felt so helpless; my bones are dissolving in the acid of this loathing. Trade the microscope for the will to power, we’re beyond baby steps and undeniably strong. You’re only a fuckup if you never move forward. So get the fuck up. Find or create the means.