In the depths of my vulnerability, you cradled me, embracing my weakest moments. You bore witness to the rawest, most fragile parts of my being. In your presence, a dormant girl awakened, a girl I hadn't conversed with in an eternity. Oh, how I longed for her. She possessed a gentle spirit, overflowing with compassion and generosity. Her smile, a frequent visitor, sought out reasons to radiate joy, finding beauty in the simplest of things. She exuded warmth and tenderness, and I yearned for her presence with an ache in my heart.
Yet, little did you anticipate encountering someone like her. I believe you assumed you had discovered a kindred spirit, someone just as shattered as you had perceived yourself to be. A soul marred by darkness and melancholy. Perhaps, when you encountered her, fear seized your heart.
Or perchance, envy consumed you. Envy, for she kissed you not only with her lips but with the depths of her soul. Envy, for she gazed not just into your eyes but into the very fabric of your world. Envy, for she loved with a purity untouched by the thorns of pain.
You couldn't bear to feel envy. You craved equality, or even superiority. And so, you shattered her. Delicately mended wounds torn open once more, as you toyed with the stitches that had so gently embraced her. Thread by thread, you pulled at the fabric, unraveling her flesh. Until her pain flowed freely once more, consuming her mind with torment and drenching her body in searing, fiery blood.
As she screamed for salvation, begging you to rescue her as you once did, you remained inert— an apathetic witness. Your inaction accompanied by a disgustingly malevolent smile.
With a cruel determination, you pried open my eyes, compelling me to bear witness to the gruesome spectacle unfolding before me. The girl I once knew, now a fragile embodiment of shattered dreams, was being mercilessly ripped apart, her every fiber writhing in agony.
How ironic it seems, for you, the harbinger of sweetness and kindness, to unleash such profound harm upon her.
Turns out you were right, once sweet soul, the nicest do the most harm.
YOU ARE READING
Moans in the Wind
PoetryWhen we are hurt, we moan in pain. When we are happy, we moan in soft sighs. When we are in love, we moan in affection and pleasure. All of your moans are meant to be heard.
