Confrontation

Confrontation

He pulled the trigger and his being was still intact.

A bullet of sweat rolled down his jaw as he relished at the fact.

He slid the weapon my way, for now it was my turn.

The lump in my throat was so hard to swallow.

I winced at how it burned.

He looked me dead in my eyes, as if he could see my bare soul.

He settled himself to hear the truth to finally be told.

He asked with great authority, disguised in a whisper.

My thumping heartbeat was the only audible filter.

“Did you ever think about us and what we could be?

Did you ever put all of your undivided attention on me?

Did you ever picture us long-term, years down the road?

Did you ever practice the speech of “When We First Met”’ and how it were to unfold?

Did you ever have me as a thought before you drifted off to sleep?

Did you count my kisses rather than count sheep?

Did you ever feel lonely, convinced only I could give the cure?

Did you ever question my intentions weighing between artificial and pure?

Or was the unconcerned demeanor not a part played but the truth?

Was the passive-aggressive attitude not a strategy but fully you?

Were the puzzled reactions to my love a plot to keep me on edge?

Was the silence you portrayed volumes of words left unsaid?

Did you ever really love me?

 Because with you I could never really tell.

Did I ever get close to you, the you underneath that famous hard as rock shell?”

His words were tense, demanding an answer, truth of 100 percent.

No more being around the bush, no more plays on words, no more staying on the fence.

As I exhaled, I raised the weapon to my head.

And I closed my eyes, replaying everything he said.

“I loved you, I did, and never could I deny that.

There are things I wished happened differently but I can’t go back.

There are tears of mine that could fill an ocean, which I cried for you.

There are sleepless nights wrapped in you that I could never seem to undo.

There are memories I relive because they are so deeply settled in my heart.

My story is not complete without you because you played a major part.

When I think of you, I think of wonder.

When I think of you, I think of passion.

I think of moments we made and created; some of adulterated and fantasy fashion.

I still feel your hands.

I still can feel your lips.

I still feel the tingle of my skin that only you could mange with your fingertips.

I can still see your face and the non-verbal command in your eyes.

I can still remember how when I was with you time seemed to supernaturally fly.

But I lived in that moment.

I never asked more of it.

Maybe it was me being selfish to not think and wonder what could become of it.

I never thought of our future because I was careless and young.

I never displayed my feelings in fear of strings getting us hung.

Do I regret that?

At times, I most certainly do because you will never truly know how much I valued and adored you.”

Before I pulled the trigger, I opened my eyes once again, to find there was no one there.

No weapon in my hand.

I had confessed to a ghost, a ghost from my past.

I had finally come to realize the haunting I had.

The ghost of past love, a love that had been lost.

A ghost of a past love that only wanted to be sought.

To be given an explanation and a reason as to why.

Why it could never rest in peace.

Why it could never say “Good-Bye”.

The question:

“Did you ever love me?” was still heard in my ear.

“Yes.” I whispered to nothing.

Finally confessing and confronting my worst fear.

XO,

@BMynroe

(RaChelle-Denise)