He looked at me, and having just met me, labeled me wounded. He said I held myself as if ready for a blow, that I spoke like an injured animal snarling in pain. He said boohoo you’ve been hurt. So what.
I am nothing without … What? Or who?
I am so many people for so many people that I can’t recognize the soul donning these disguises.
I waved goodbye at the whistling tree, but I didn’t walk away for many months. I pressed dirt over the piece of my heart buried in the ground and spat at the one who gave me the knife to maim it. I said goodbye to him every single day until one day I grew so tired I couldn’t lift my hand to wave, and that’s when I finally limped away.
I will never forgive you for showing me that I have a soul, and I wish I could take back every word that spilled onto the ground before us, the flowers growing there are weeping ugly things.
I regret many things, and you are one of them. Pain was not worth pain. You gave me no pleasure in exchange. Now I give nothing as well.