Karma. I never used to believe. But now I do...
He hates me. It is evident in the way he treats and looks at me. I can see love has long departed the palpating chambers of his heart and he no longer considers me his own. He no longer bothers to find the emotion that currently disrupts my heart. My tears no longer hold equity.
I fell in love with him and his tender actions. I fell in love with his tender words that promised protection and eternal affection. I wallowed in the sunshine that had entered my life and rejoiced with wild abandon. I was raw and alive and wanted to experience anything and everything. I stopped sleeping and started living once again. He was my drug.
But then began the lies. Rumblings of accusations that something was awry. The lies he fed that said I needed help. Why would he do this? Didn’t he see how happy I was and how happy I made him? Why would he want to ruin the most wonderful thing each had ever experienced?
I stopped believing. In him. In us. I no longer believed in his words and he ceased to be my reason for living; he ceased to be my crutch. I withdrew. Days and weeks passed where not a word was spoken. Clouds already had made their way into my world once again and had returned with that constant familiar of hopelessness and despair.
He offered words of love; words filled with the fallacy of reason and hope. But I no longer believed. Instead I wanted apathy. Just sweet, disconnected apathy. The one emotion that had always been my loyal constant.
Slowly I began to teach him the nature of my ways and we became two strangers living in a house divided.
“Never stop loving me,” I would whisper tenderly into his ears late at night while he was asleep.
“Never,” I wished his heart would respond.
But it never did.
In time, he left, no longer wanting to enable, no longer standing sentry to my desire to self-destruct.
With shattered heart and hopes, he kissed our love goodbye. A tear, the only witness to the bond that once was us, escaped from the corner of his eye.
"I will always love you," I heard him say.
He hates me. The knot in my stomach tells me so. He doesn't know it yet, but he does. Of this, I’m sure. He no longer loves me or considers me his own. He no longer cares to find what emotion fills or riles my heart. My blood-shed tears having lost their equity. Karma, manifest destiny, call it by whatever name you desire, because in the end, that which I gave I received; in the end, I am once again left alone.