...lying.

I woke up and you were gone, reminding me of the cold of winter coming. Summer passes and so did you, coming into my life like a midsummer monsoon, leaving me ecstatic, excited and broken into tiny pieces.

Everything looks grey, blurry and I feel lonely. I watched you tear me apart and tell me it was all right. I trusted you and you fled, leaving me drained, taking my colours and leaving the cold behind. And your scent. That heavenly smell will keep me up at night, haunting my dreams and reminding me that we happened. We DID happen, and now it’s over. It passed and you have probably forgotten about me by now. I don’t blame you, I’m easy to forget when my feelings aren’t honest, and my hands did only write lies on your body. But your warmth kept me company, and I do not have regrets. I do not believe in mistaken decisions, and I’m truly sorry if I ever took the wrong ones with you. We were never meant to be, and it took you longer to realize than it did me. Why I stayed, you ask? Because us humans are no more than that, and hope really IS the last thing to leave us. I hope for you to be happy, but no more than I hope the same thing for me. Why we couldn’t do it together no one knows nor will we ever know. I just wished shortly it could have worked.

I woke up and you were gone. When I stretched my hand I understood. You had already left. No need for complicated conversations or hurtful goodbyes. You had finally understood me too, and couldn’t handle it. I take full responsibility and hope only the best for you. I promise I will miss you, and the person I pretended to be for a while. I was just trying to find myself, but I found you instead.

...bruises

She heard him once again. Four attempts and he got in, slamming the door and bumping into everything on his track while she did no more than shiver in the kitchen. Not this. Please not this. Not again. Please not again. Not now. Please, PLEASE not now.

Rain was falling outside, hitting the pavement at a pace as fast as her heartbeat. It was late. So late you could call it early and she knew exactly what that meant. She hated herself every single time she cared for him. Once more and it’s over, she thought. Every time. Every single time she made that promise. And every single time she found herself putting up with it. With him. Every time she found herself covering the scratches. Every time she cured her own wounds. Every time she let it slide away, lying to everyone and hiding inside herself. This time would be no different.

He came into the kitchen screaming for attention. He smelled like dirty pubs and garbage cans. Like old water and muddy sidewalks. He was hungry and yelled for food. She knew it was best to just do it. Get it over with and let him sleep. Tears ran down her cheeks as she saw him. Filthy, wounded and wet. Another fight, and another walk home in the freezing, humid wind at this time, so late not even birds were up. She sobbed in silence and opened the refrigerator while he simply sat there, watching, expecting, waiting for her to do something wrong. For her to take too long. For her to make a mistake, just to have an excuse later on.

She got him to calm down, and after a fight so tough she thought it would be her last, she made him get into the bathtub. He was angry, and his wounds were almost as big as hers. She cleaned him with the care only lovers take, and when the water was a color as deep as her scars she made him come out, and dried him. He was still not satisfied once they were back in the kitchen and made that clear by throwing his meal almost at her, and fleeing the room, leaving her behind, cleaning because it was her job, and crying because this had been her fate and life for the past five years.If only she had listened to her friends. To her mother. Even her old uncle. Yes, this was her own fault and he was right: she deserved it.

Once she had cleaned up she went into the bedroom. He was there. On the bed. Waiting. She hated to know what was going to happen, and it would only get worse if she fought back. But she knew that was what he liked. He yelled at her, and his husky voice pierced her defenses. Her claws had nothing to do against the sharp paws that scarred her over and over again. She tried being gentle but he almost yanked off her clothes and cut through her skin, bruising the tiny surfaces still flesh toned. 

Another tear fell down to join the others, as she knew there was only one thing left to do. Only one Ace up her sleeve. Only one way out. Only one thing that would make him shut up and leave her alone. She knew she wasn’t supposed to. She couldn’t. She mustn’t. But that only made her want it even more. She wanted to put an end to this. To put an end to this night, and to, for once, sleep tight the rest of the dark hours.She yanked herself free and ran to the kitchen. She could hear him moan behind her and knew she didn’t have much time. She desperately opened the cupboards, and heard him come closer. As soon as she turned around he was there, but she had found what she was looking for and placed it right in front of him. 

He had never been able to resist a plate of cream.

In another part of town a phone was picked up and listened expectant to her words: “Sarah? Mr. Whiskers has been out fighting again. I think I need you to take us to the vet tomorrow.”

...you

Snow is falling outside. It’s freezing out there, but yet I sit here feeling warm and at the same time awfully cold. Cold and dead. But what to do about it? You’re not here. You never were, and yet I still hope for the day you will come back, truly, and heat my soul as no one ever could. As I never could. As I never will be able to. Loneliness has never been my strong point. I pretend to like it and I smile when anyone mentions it. But I hate it. I hate needing you, and I hate having to admit it, but never more than I hate feeling you are never going to come. Is this it? Then what have I done wrong? I need you now, so why don’t you answer the phone? Why can’t you already be here? Why did you not follow? Why did you not stop me? Why did you let me go?

You once told me free birds need to fly… but I chose north and right now I can’t do it without help. Not without you. Not anymore. Not now. Not here. It’s too cold outside for summer birds to fly. The moment you left without looking back you cut my wings, and when you stopped calling you buried them so deep I sometimes think not even the spring breeze nor the warmth of your touch will make me take off again.

But who am I kidding? We all know you will come back. You always do and you always will… I just need you to hold me tight and tell me everything is going to be alright, that solitude is not my destiny and that we will end up together. Because I’m your someday-girl and I love it. Because I’m your someday-girl and I hate that. But why does it hurt so bad? I never imagined you this cruel. Not you. We went through so much and yet so little. I know every secret; every door to your inner self and all the little things that make you crack. And yet you never really knew me. We smile at each other and ignore the life outside our circle while we pretend not to fall in love. We always have and I fear we always will. Why that is we will never know, but one thing I do know, and it hurts so bad: someday never arrives.