Impeccable Kindness

You Ordered My Murder, and I Ordered Yours.

You ordered my murder, and I ordered yours.

How we came for each other when we never did truly come.

You confessed to me, wine drunk, you wanted to be with me. In the shadow of that April evening, the likes of which extended over my being for months to come, you said that you had wanted me.

My breath, taken away. I lost it mid-sentence. You were the only thing to me then; the world crumbled from view. I didn't realize then I would want to eventually destroy you.

I've never wanted anything so bad as I wanted you though. I felt the hunger for you exist in my limbs, in my hair, in my clothes. I wanted you - every part of you, every taste of you, every thought of you, I wanted to hold you close.

I looked into your eyes and saw a world I never knew could exist. Fragments of a faraway utopia, blue and kind and reflected back to me. Perfection as it were.

But you ordered my murder, and I ordered yours.

I think about you often but I shouldn't. I should erase you, and I tried to. Drink after drink after drink. Falling apart in front of people I never knew.

When I told the world about you, I tried to protect you.

Even after the fact and I was still trying to hurt you. I was becoming a parody of me, a ghost of some part I thought had gone away. It didn't. It was still there; it was dormant like a phantom limb or a relentless disease.

I lashed out because my wound was bigger than I thought yours could ever be.

I don't want you to forgive me.

I don't expect you could.