Dear you,
I can't stop shaking. I don't know if it's because I finally listened to you, or because I'm terrified of what I haven't heard yet.
And I did listen to you. I finally understood those words you tried to speak through silence when you walked away. They weren't very nice words, but maybe I needed to hear them. I thought you had taken my heart with you when you left the first time, but darling? You just ripped it out.
It's not so much that you said anything, really. It's the things that you didn't say that speak so loud. They're ringing in my head, those unsaid things, and burning me up inside. I don't know how I'm supposed to deal with it. How am I supposed to love him when you've left this gaping, shattered hole in the center of my chest? It makes me gasp and choke.
And I can't stop shaking.
He says I'm beautiful. He says I'm smart, amazing, funny, kind, beautiful. But guess what? He also says I'm broken. I'm a beautiful, broken mess. And it's all your fault.
But I can't blame you completely. I can blame you that I fall in love with every red-head I meet. And that's not fair. That's not fair that they have the misfortune of sharing a hair color with someone they'll never get to meet. That's not fair to have someone who doesn't know them love them.
But no, I can't blame you, because you didn't start this, and you didn't finish it. No, that was his fault, him with his blue eyes and his sandy hair. And him, with his dark hair and darker eyes, with all his stupid music that I've lost because I was too angry to keep it.
Yes, dear, it's your fault that I'm this way, but you're not completely to blame.
I can't stop shaking, because I don't know what I haven't heard yet, but the things that I've listened to are much too frightening to speak aloud.
You gave me the knife and showed me how, but you're not to blame.
No, darling, you're not to blame.
But it is all your fault.
Sincerely (and with the deepest wishes your stay in Hell is pleasant),
xx
Blue
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