How could you do that to a soul
that only wanted good for you?
How could you do that to a soul
that loved you more than itself?
Why would you do that
to someone who gave you everything—
everything they had,
everything they were,
everything they could be?
They loved you so much
they would have put themselves on fire just to keep you warm.
And you used that.
You watched them burn,
and still, you asked for more.
They had their own troubles,
keeping them from sleeping at night,
but they pushed them aside,
silenced their screams,
just so they could listen to yours.
They believed in you.
God, they trusted you.
And you made them wish they hadn’t.
Who are they supposed to believe in now?
You’re a #####.
I don’t know if you didn’t notice,
or if you just didn’t care.
If you ignored the way their eyes
shone with devotion,
or if you simply liked the way
that light dimmed
every time you hurt them a little more.
They killed themselves
to keep the ‘us’ alive—
but you never wanted it.
You never wanted them.
Not the way they wanted you.
And now?
Now, they’ll never forgive themselves
for always forgiving you.
For letting you in again and again,
knowing you’d do the same thing
every single round.
They tried so hard
to be what you needed,
to mold themselves into
whatever the hell you wanted,
but in the end,
you never needed anything, did you?
But they don’t hate you,
they never could.
Because their soul is pure,
because they were made to love,
because they see the best in people
even when they shouldn’t.
They forgive you.
But I hope you never forget.
I hope their love haunts you,
follows you like a shadow,
claws at the back of your mind
every time you try to sleep.
I hope you remember.
They loved you like Van Gogh loved art,
and you loved them
like Van Gogh loved life.