The One That Got Away

The ties that bind us
Snap like whips; you lash at me,
Writing words with wounds.

How can something that felt so right in the beginning turn into something so revolting? For the longest time, I have avoided answering this question, skirting around it like the edge of a cliff. Now I think hard on the answers and realize I have lost my grip. I hardly remember the details of our last fight; neither do I recall how we ever got to exchange our nasty goodbyes. When I plumb my feelings, I find that all that’s clear to me is the pain that you gave me so generously. I will never understand what you found so delighting in the sight of me in pain. So I guess I ought to stop trying to understand, too, why I still feel anger when I look at you.

So why can’t we ever be friends again? Because I think I will forever be angry with you for the many things that you did, and the few you didn’t do. I wish you had told me earlier you were drifting away alone. I wish your take-off were gentler, too.

The bridges are burned. We are beyond apologies. The one that got away: that’s what you see now when you look at me.