You Gotta Believe I Have Suffered Enough To Be Free

i. Summer
You lured me in with a cheap grin on candy lips that were just a little bit too sweet. I played along with your dramatics and suffered through your confusing antics. My heart wasn’t ready to register the fact that you were slowly becoming a splinter in my skin, a cold shoulder, and a backseat goodbye. Your irises swam with something like understanding and for the first time, I found that I could float in unsoiled waters. Then, like a balloon that is squeezed too hard, everything we ever stood for exploded back into my face, creating wounds that could never be fixed by words alone. And that was the day you also chose to leave.

ii. Autumn
I was stuck on ‘rewind’. I curled up against the music that was my refuge, an antidote for being too forgiving. Our song tap-danced along the walls of my brain, plunging me into an abyss of optic horror where I mistook you for being tender, and sometimes even remotely considerate. But the cradle that fervently rocked our emotions snapped off its hinges, and dropped straight through all of the ground we had just so meticulously molded with damaged fingers. You said you cared. You lied. And you will never know how many times I’ve tried to inject ‘ecstasy’ into my regretful veins because, for the longest time, I thought that it could fix me.  

iii. Winter
The first snowfall came, drawing a veil over the mental hell you had put me through, and I finally had some sense of relief. I was also trying to avoid how much I miss leaning against your sturdy shoulders and cupping your secrets with my warm palms. But the coldness you threw in my direction completely froze what was left of my inner strength.

“There’s only so much you can give with broken hands,” I said.

The birds ran out of seed. Clouds put the sun behind bars. My heart bled dry. I didn’t know if I could summon enough energy to crawl into next year.

iv. Spring
Lilies brighten up the dismal room and tree blossoms perch upon the hardwood floor. The flicker of a vanilla candle provides me with comfort instead of how it used to be. Maybe you will be in another chapter of my autobiography, if I find time to edit it again. I’ve awakened my soul with cerulean blues, apricots, shamrocks, and plums, scribbling over the empty voids you placed randomly across my bones. You are a mystery that I will never be able to solve, another challenge I can't quite grasp, but I won’t forget how miserable you made me feel when I tried incessantly to figure you out.

I am suffering from your poor choices, but at least I am headed somewhere again, with no chains to keep me nailed in a single place.

My heart beats just for me now.