I Killed You

I wanted to be able to grow old with you. To watch our children grow into charming princesses and princes. To hold your small hands as the years slowly steal our youth away.

But you left me. You left me all alone with nothing but the remains of an empty promise: I’ll come back later, when you’ve calmed down.

You never came back.

And the last time I ever saw your face was when you were laid to rest on that cold table, the sheets covering the blood. Your broken body.

The day you jumped, was the day my world came to a screeching halt.

Like the grass in a field that was once so full of life has suddenly hit a drought. Because of the drought, a fire started. I tried my best to put it out. Tried my best to save those beautiful memories, but because of the fire, they became charred.

Blackened and full of toxic smoke, those are my feelings now.

I can’t seem to remember the times when everything was so bright and simple. When you loved me to the point where you would die for me. But...that was the problem, wasn’t it? You loved me.

So much that when I told you to die for me, you did.

I was on the verge of death before I met you. My boyfriend had cheated on me with my sister and I got kicked out of his house the very next day. I lost all motivation to live. My dreams for law school dissipated. My whole future fell apart.

And then came you. From your oversized sweater to your beautiful brown eyes, I loved everything about you.

I loved you.

But I didn’t want to admit it. I couldn’t admit it. How could I, when loving you in itself was a sin?

I told myself you were just a friend. Even when my heart beat a little faster everytime my eyes met yours. Even when I felt such giddiness everytime you complimented me. Even when I felt such intense jealousy when you started dating someone else.

Even when you broke up with him just to confess to me.

I couldn’t accept your feelings, even when you told me you loved me.

“I would never forgive you if you make me go down the path of sin. I must never love a woman.”

Your hands fell to your sides as I pushed you away. You nodded your head. You said you would come to terms with it.

A year passes.

My feelings for you didn’t go away. But you seemed to have moved on.

That day in late June, you ran out of your room with such joy sparkling in those caramel brown eyes and said with such hope in that songbird-like voice of yours, “I think someone likes me. Should I accept her feelings?”

I gripped you by the shoulders and screamed at you.

“I thought you loved me! You said you loved me! And just when I think I might be okay with loving you, you move on to someone else. What do I do then? Tell me! What do you want me to do?!”

I could feel your body trembling as you cowered in front of me.

“You said you would never love me back. I can’t pin after you forever, can I?”

“You don’t love me. You never did.”

“You’re wrong. I do love you. I love you so much I would die for you.”

The overwhelming rage that ripped into me when I heard those words was what made me snap.

“Then die. Go die for me if that’s what will make you happy!”

I didn’t know back then. I didn’t know your parents had just gone through a divorce. I didn’t know you were still being bullied in school. I didn’t know you were struggling to find the will to live.

I didn’t notice the scars on your wrists you tried so hard to hide. I didn’t notice you cried yourself to sleep every night. I didn’t notice anything.

I had pushed you away when you needed me the most.

I was wrong. You didn’t leave me. You were always there for me.

You guided me into the light, even when my monsters pulled you into the shadows. You pieced me back together, even when my broken shards cut you open every time you came close. You filled me with so much happiness, even when it drained you of every last drop. You told me you loved me, even when I shoved that love back down your throat, choking you, suffocating you.

I abandoned you.

I killed you.

If you were still alive, you’d be sixty today. You’d be by my side, with our boys and girls all grown up with their own little boys and girls. You’d be beautiful, even your silver hair and the wrinkles on your skin. You’d hold my hand, and tell me you love me with such conviction in those eyes.

Or maybe we would have parted ways years ago. Maybe you would have found someone who was actually worthy of your unconditional love and your pure soul. Maybe you would have had children of your own, and they would look like you, with your brown eyes, with your golden brown hair.

But after all that, I still love you.

...well...it’s too late for that now, isn’t it?