I can’t seem to understand you, let alone unknot you. Regardless of the countless times, I feel as though I’ve finally caught up to you, figured you all out, I find myself back at square one. You’ve brought me to my knees more times than I can remember standing back up, had me bawling on a December night that was supposed to be the best night of my life, and just when I thought you would have had enough, that the drive from down here will be smooth, you proved me wrong. You’ve been mercilessly cruel, and you know it. You solely carry the blame for shattering several hearts till they were dried of blood and humanity all at once, crushing any shred of hope that may be present inside someone. Oh, how I imagine, you must love a heart of stone.
I can almost imagine you smirking at me, your lips twitching upwards and your almond-shaped eyes full of delight. It makes me want to clench my fists and get back at you, why do you relish this so much? Eventually, to forget about my helplessness in front of your mighty being, I rejoice in the thought that there exists something which can put an end to you, death.
All your sinister plans lay at the arbitrary whims of death, its shadow dominant appearance. At the end of the day, neither of us have a say in how things will turn out. Perhaps on that account, we could shake hands and become friends? Let us talk over a cup of coffee and ease our burdens. I promise I’ll be able to put myself in your shoes and walk on the thorny carpet that lays beneath you.
After all, that is the least I can do for the villain of my story.
Tell me, would you? what turned you so cold? What was it that convinced you to spare mere seconds of solace after giving someone ages and ages of agony? Is it that you loved someone, made them the bane of your existence only to be left deserted? Or perhaps you loved, were loved, and lost? If that is the case, I am sorry, truly. I know the burning ache of losing, the ache that lingers on forever, however long that might be.
I know it thanks to you.
Although I’ve read enough books to know that villains too have a soul regardless of how deep they bury it or how strongly they lock it up, it tends to show itself in between glimpses, hidden from the human eye. I, for one, am living proof of yours. On occasions, you gifted me moments of utter bliss with everything perfectly timed. I wondered if it was a reality after all and as unbelievable as it sounds, it was. For those fugitive jiffs, some part of me will always be beholden to you.
In such fleeting moments of elation, I caught myself wondering if I could somehow entrap this feeling of ecstasy in a bottle and be able to relive it again in times when I would want nothing more than to slip 6 ft under.
But I won’t lie, I fear happiness far more than I crave it, the terror runs through my veins like blood. Owing to you, I have seldom known what it is like to greet happiness and contentment without expecting a dagger to run right through me. In my version of reality, pleasure and punishment exist in close proximity, we’re bound to suffer for the eudaimonia we feel.
Yours Truly,
A Reverie