By Alysia Szabo
I pity you.
You have lost something beautiful, and golden, and miraculous.
The pain that twists like a knife in my chest will pass with each breath I take.
The pretty words flowing freely from your mouth; venomous and rancid as it drips
from your tongue. I believed, I fell; I forgot to listen to my own words warning me, trying to keep my bruised heart safe.
It eats at my soul, this mesh of cold, and misery, and bitter anger gnawing from the inside. I will bind my soul tighter; holding it closer, protecting it, nursing it, coaxing it back to the shadows.
I will rise from these sorrowful ashes, hardened, a bit crueler; finding the world a bit less colorful than it once was.
But I must be brave, venture on; carrying my fragile mind with me as I go forth, never looking back at what could have been.
I pity you, lost one. You will never know the light, as you cocoon yourself in the darkness of the past.