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The End of a Secret
By Pure Intent
You think you can do that? You think you can get away with patronising me, making me think my life is an utter waste of time, so superficial? And you think you can get away with it? You really don't know me at all. It's not going to be so simple, and why the hell should it be, it wasn't for me. You pushed, dug and ripped at the flesh wanting an answer to satisfy your thirst for knowledge. But the answer you got wasn't as expected was it? In those few moments you realised your mistake as "love" fell from my lips. Oh you're shocked are you? You're the only one that can be insightful? Well, I'm not finished yet. How long? How long have you suspected? And what did you think it was? A need of something I was missing substituted by your image, what I thought you would be. No, I know what you would be. You would be angry, afraid, blame me for everything before coming back to my bed to find peace. Then anger again. I know this, I'm no child as you seem to think. This has all come too far for me not to know what I'm talking about, and that's what frightens you the most isn't it? You thought you would be able to use your experience, your convincing words and eloquent logic to throw me from my perch. You, with one moment of utter superiority would set the world to rights, the saviour of yet another day. Well not this time. We all experience the mistakes of our actions and here's yours.
Three years. Three years I have watched and waited for what would never happen. Countless encounters, one hundred and ninety six actually, all fuelled with the same desire. The look in my eyes ever constant, ever wilful for your realisation that would bring no happiness. Your eyes always hollow to my need. The pain from such meetings would sometimes be too much to bear. Then the unimaginable acts conjured in my minds eye to replace the aching wound left by you. They would make me feel worse and better, to know it was no longer your face swimming behind the tears.
Don't touch me! Don't offer your sympathies. This isn't about me, it's about you and your quest for the truth, for justification of something that reeks of the Human Condition. How does it feel to be powerless, to have to sit and listen, to have you're emotions, your opinions flanked at all sides? Do you like it? I did. Your control over me was something I craved. I would fabricate entire lives to make you feel for me, to give you control. Did you notice? Huh, I figured as much. It was not an event you set into motion and so was not something that existed.
At one time things could be so innocent. A glance, a touch, an act of kindness. Now Janus has found a true home. Two faces to every form. Wanting a friend or wanting a fuck? Showing loyalty or showing love? Questions to which there is no answer, for you.
Don't look at me like that. I you were never supposed to find out about this, never supposed to know. I thought I was so safe for criticism, from exposure. I haven't prepared for this. I don't mean to hurt you, you don't deserve it. None of this is your doing, you instigated nothing and I know it's my cross to bare. Though it will be harder now with you undoubtedly clinging to the perpendicular planks. Don't look for sense or reason; believe me you won't find it.
To this day, I haven't.
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