Guilty Ungratefulness

The truth is deep; the roots plant themselves in wet cement; and once it finally dries, it rips itself out, leaving you with crumbled bits of sharp concrete; and the proof of its existence is not in the ruins, but in the face of emotion and feelings. Though maybe that is why, the wound of emotion lets you know that you are alive, and sometimes it is a lovely, delightful wound, and other times not so much. But with feeling, we know we are living.


“Our friendship was rain that helped the green grass grow, with the smell of dampness and sprouting in the air. But the rain of our friendship grew cold and dry, and we’ve been in a drought since the beginning of May” you think to yourself. You remember all of those orange autumn months. She harassed you endlessly until you finally gave in. You thought if you sat there and listened to her babbling mouth just once that she might have left you alone. But she didn’t leave you alone and you sunk deeper into trancelike state of the “friendship”, with the delusion that she really cared. You opened up your soul in hopes that her eyes wouldn’t be judgmental. You laughed and cried together for years, and then she changed. Suddenly her eyes and her mind began judging, and the delusion of her safekeeping began to drift away steadily, like a tide drifting out to sea, slowly and then all at once, deserting you in confusion and loneliness. Her awful words sting you like the stripes of a yellow and black bee; all you are able to do is be honest and to put everything on the line, and you trusted her with your feelings; but she’s always have been living in a dreamland. You trusted her- with your bare feet on hot coals- you opened up and told her things that you didn’t want to tell her, that she forced you to say. And suddenly you realize all the manipulation and heartache that she caused you, one piece after another chipped away. Her approval and lack thereof, kept you going, she took complete control over your life. You now leave with regrets and like your heart just ripped from your chest because she, sweet innocent girl whom nobody dislikes, is a devilish monster deep down inside that can tear you apart at the seams. You give her your trust, and she’ll make your blue eyes cry as she takes all that valuable information you didn’t want to share with her to begin with, and use it against you, to hate you and to tear you down; but it will be to vicariously live through your orange, autumn heart, only to leave you stranded with questions and rotten, frozen fruit when winter and the snow come around. She’ll leave you wondering and questioning yourself, crying and feeling guilty, although she is the one that brought you harm.


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