I miss you sometimes. It lasts for several minutes – then I fight off your ghosts, and put to sleep your echoes. It gets easier, as I am reminded of your miscarriage of my heart. You abused a gift, while using smoke and mirrors for a clean retreat. I give you credit for the game you played, but I hope you know I won. I slipped out with minimal bruising, though I must admit my head was not held high. I felt foolish for a long time. I am mostly now – just filled with apathy. Your repetitive cries laminate my champion’s certificate. I will make a copy for you.
Your reflection is beaten. Look again and see it this time.
Sometimes I want to stab you with relentless truths, but I pull back my tongue and lay to rest my hand. It is the right thing to do. I will give you this failure. I can’t bring to light what is already shining for all to see.
I hope your words will soon become your own. And the echoes I hear won’t just be ripped from another’s pages. Maybe because you know that your own tongue – melts to the touch and ripples with the wind. Failing in its intended purpose… and so painfully repetitive.
My next step crackles like a fire and shapes a new legacy. This was not just another broken heart. Destruction for a better reconstruction. I see much clearer – now that there is so much more fire… and far less, bullshit smoke.