A Deserter’s Merit


If I were to say that I miss you, would you say that you miss me too? Would you be lying through your teeth? Would you look at me with a strange almost-recognition? A recognition that falls short of everything we were. Everything we used to be. We used to be everything.


Or would you laugh? Laugh at the poor, broken girl? Laugh that you stole my heart, while you didn’t invest yours? Could it be that you would just laugh?


And I’m apt to recall conversations, all of our touches and glances. They had me fooled me, back then… If they came again, would they still fool me? Would it still amuse you a second time around? That must be it. I must be the fool. A fool for believing in face value. A fool for taking you at your word. Not-a-doubt-about-it-fool.


I gave you everything. My time. My pseudo-talents. My air. There’s nothing left. I gave you me. Now I’m a casing. A molted shell. I’m a hollow sound in the air. All of my spirit and energy channeled into an unappreciated present. How did I not notice the scrunch of your nose and the repulsion in your face? Fixating on mislaid trust. “Oh, I love you splendid!”


 I expended my existence. Expedited my untimely death. Died young before I would see another betrayal: my looks following suit. In your presence, I died alone. You were always a deserter, but you gained a heart of purple. I hope that fixes your cardiovascular system. Or that war never leaves you…



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