You betrayed in more ways than one; there is no grasping what sadness it causes but it does not come as a surprise…you dabbled in the likes of Nostradamus. You told me it would happen sooner or later.
It began to seem odd to me how a slight argument would linger into next week, and then the following. There are months where I have no memory of you, because we were blind to each other. Avoiding glances in the kitchen, no hello in the sunrise, darting out of rooms when footsteps approached. I can be good at being unseen too.
The street called to me then, his voice was a medley of many others; deep voices accompanied by musk and hands. There were many hands, they all caught me when I fell, and I had to fall many times buying time where I thought I could stay. This upset you, and I knew it. I am sorry for seeking out when I felt alone in.
We prefer a palette of black and white. So I leave and you stay, and we dance to the tune of discourse as it revolves endlessly to this scene. Our poor observer, tiptoes across the webs we’ve spun, across the opposing paint droplets smeared on our walls, painted by our hands.
I said just a little before but I will say wholeheartedly, I am sorry for all the trouble I have caused you, and I am sorry that things are not as they once were, when I trusted you and you trusted me. I don’t know if it is too far gone, but it feels an eternity from now. These lessons of our rivalry present themselves like a graceful Medusa as she hardens you and the hopeful outlook of change hardens with me too.