I pray to accept reality,
to accept that I was never special,
that I was never a woman impossible to replace.
While I turned my skin into scars,
my throat into cries, my eyes into a sea,
I lived under the illusion
that you were only pretending
not to care,
when the truth was
simpler
than all my excuses: YOU DIDN’T.
It was easier to blame the circumstances
than to accept that you simply
didn’t care enough.
Since then, the same fear has haunted me:
that one morning you will wake up,
open your eyes beside me,
and realize that I am not everything
you ever wanted, that there will always
be something missing.
Maybe someone older,
maybe thinner,
maybe with longer hair,
maybe with darker eyes.
Every time you enter me,
I remember that you once entered
through other doors as well, and ever since,
I have compared them to my own.
°
The line between love and sin
was never clear, only faint.
You devoted yourself to placing blame.
Your finger was always pointed at everyone
except yourself.
I felt the disrespect,
and then came the betrayal,
the lies, the mockery, and the way
you insulted my intelligence.
I no longer search for hidden meanings.
I no longer invent excuses.
I no longer try to repair the truth.
Everything is exactly as it seems.
