I wish I could take the hands of time and turn them in reverse
I'd take back every long goodbye with venom in my words
It doesn’t matter which way she turns—he refuses to give her an inch.
He refuses to submit or yield or give her an ounce of victory in this conversation. She is left scrambling at the stone walls of his exterior, her fingertips bloody, her body exhausted. It doesn’t matter if she slams against him, or cries, or threatens his life, because he doesn’t change—he doesn’t react at all.
She feels the anger come back to her. Perhaps because it is the easiest for her to grasp. Perhaps because it is just never far out of reach. Whatever the reason, it coils in her again, braided with her despair. “Maybe you’re right,” she says against his shoulder and then colder as she steps away, her sage eyes flaring to life.
“It’s what you want me to say right?”
She exhales and feels the darkness of the night around them pressing into them, feels it heavy on her spine where his mouth had just been—feels it in the pitch of night. “You want me to just take your excuse and walk away so you can stay here, by yourself, like you’re above caring. Because heaven forbid you actually feel anything or, worse, let anyone else see that you feel something. Isn’t that right?”
A muscle jumps in her jaw as she clamps down, looking away, nostrils flaring.
She looks back and try to grab at the rags of her dignity, feeling the burn of shame for the way she’s flooded him with her own pitiful story. She’s told him the darkest parts of herself—things that she has never admitted to anyone else—and she doesn’t even know his name. Doesn’t know a thing about him.
“So just go,” she spits again, emotions churning in her chest. “Just leave. I bet you’re good at it.”
the only way to being found is getting lost at first
but all I find are more bridges to burn
