Havisham

Smouldering in the ashes of his betrayal, I wait. I’ve waited. I will wait. I claw at the remnants of our time together, screaming his memory. This is what I have known as a relationship; a series of endless, furious disappointments. Inconceivably, after all this time, I can still ponder his reasoning for deserting me. I loved him.

Some say the closest thing to love is hate and with that I can empathise. My feelings for him were so overbearing that I’m left to despise him. Unwillingly, I have dedicated my life to him; devoted myself to the hatred of him. I have agonisingly shrieked his name until I can no longer speak. My voice rasps, my throat is dry. I have held my breath waiting for him, resorted to gasping back the air in dejected despair.

I’m trapped, unrelentingly, in this unrequited love story. Love is futile, worthless. As, incontestably, my rage overwhelms me, my loneliness does also. Discarded and forsaken. Somehow he left me neglected and vacant, void of emotion, compelled to remain in my desolation. Tears stream to the point where there is nothing left, I am empty.

So you ask, what is love? What is a relationship? Love is deceitful and deceptive; it convinces you that someone is unquestioningly committed to you. Love lies. Relationship… the word ignites a fire in me that flares deep inside, it burns. Does this word not suggest trust, reliability, stability? It lies.

Love. Relationship. These two words made me what I am. They left me devastated, a shadow of the person I once was. The concept of love resulted in the need for destruction and, with nothing better to destroy, I have allowed it to eat away at me. Rotting in my defeat, I submit, I surrender to the agony of insufferable abandonment.

I loved him.