Words are the bane of our existence. We could exist comfortably in silence but the moment words are shared, the fragility of our world cracks open with reality.
You were never mine or I, yours. We never believed in claiming what should be a basic human right, owning yourself. Love is in a way, slavery and we understood that. We treated it with care but also with a hint of cynicism that we could never get it right.
I recently found out you might be dating another. It is not proven but on a hunch and I pride myself on my astuteness. I feel like hurling a glass ball in your face. Or rather, in the air around your face as you have a terribly beautiful one and anyway, my aim sucks.
But then I caught myself. You were never mine to begin with. You were practically a stranger. Something more intimate than my fuck buddies because you know the person beneath this skin and the thoughts in this brain.
And you got scared by what you see and feel, because I destroy things in my path. And you know you were going to be next if you stayed.
And that was all we ever had. A lifetime of ifs.