You and I are apparently gluttons for punishment, never needing a reason but aching for it; feeling like you’re missing a limb when we’re not feeling pain.
It’s a freaking cycle, a perpetual circle of inflicting and taking; trading blows and punches. I call you in the middle of the night and ask if I can come over even though I know I’m going to hate myself after everything is over; even though I know it’s going to be such the stupidest thing I ever do.
You always say yes though. You let me come and open the door with a displeased face and a tired sigh. But you always – always let me in. Maybe because you are used to the constant and anything new, anything that deviates for the norm terrifies you. You’d rather do resentment than work with change.
It’s the same set of questions left unanswered and I never tire of asking them: “Why can’t you love me? What else can I do? What else can I be for you? What does it take to make you change your mind?” You always answer with silence and a kiss. Like the kiss is my consolation prize. Fuck that. No one fights to win the consolation prize.
Tonight though, when I called you and you said I should come over, I knew something has changed. Your bravery has shown its face. Your spine is straight and strong – like the sword you are about to push into my chest. I ask you the same questions and tonight…tonight you said “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Baby. I’m so very sorry.”
Then you kissed my hair and brushed my tears away.
-inspired by Maria Mena’s song “Sorry”