I’m sorry that it’s taken me an eternity to write this. My knees have been dug into the dirt for months over this mess I’ve made. I’ve been screaming at trees like they owe me something, and throwing leaves above my head to understand why beautiful things always die next to me. If I am not the victim, I will play it until the blood on my hands is seeping from your pores and maybe that’s why it’s not a bad thing that this knife is pointed at my chest. I’m sorry if this doesn’t make sense but nothing makes any sense. My thoughts flow freely until it comes to you and then I start choking on my sentences. I’m picking these words from in-between my teeth and slamming them on the paper as if they even mean anything anymore. I’m sorry that it took me so long to realise that I’m the monster hiding under your bed and the maker of your worst nightmare. I left you standing in the middle of a thunderstorm with nothing but steel memories. I just couldn’t bare to stand in front of you because the reflection of your eyes would turn into the type of darkness that even the moon is afraid of. I couldn’t see what you saw in me with that demon staring back. I thought running away would protect you from it because my touch is what ruins everything but I didn’t even have to lay a finger on you to destroy you. Lately, all I know is how to say I’m sorry. Your mind was already a war zone and I chose to fight against you. The sky was falling above your head and I insisted on throwing punches in the air. I’m sorry I couldn’t figure out that the reason you can’t sleep at night isn’t because you miss me. My walls are screaming your name in agony from every time I’ve shoved a bloody first through them for how wrong I was. I should have held your hand, cemented my feet to the ground, and put up a fight against the oncoming storm. Please stop setting fire to our house while you’re still inside. I will open the door and you can watch me burn.

This is your closure.

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