i t a l l c o m e s t o l i g h t

I found where you keep your secrets after all these years.



It was an accident by me, the undeniable intention of the universe.

I have wondered and wondered and cried and prayed and begged to know them, all your secrets, and thought and written the most awful, scary things to make it all okay. I fictionalized you and created you from my mind and made up all that I didn’t know and condensed you into a single stack, a file, black, white. I even dragged you, postmortem, into someone new, and you bled so deeply right through me and into them that they choked on you and gradually, slowly, died as well.

I will be dead before I will lose someone else to your blood again.

The sickness eventually took over my entire brain. I began to see things, imagined things that weren’t real and shit was cartoonish and freakish - examining only darknesses every single moment for days and then months and then years. Yeah, years.

And now I realize. You are worse off than I ever was. And I truly hate that.

You feared me? Feared for your life? I scare you?

You scare me. To death. What happened to you?

An inner dark that finally made its way out? Were you always in your cocoon? Or are you a butterfly that rotted?

It didn’t have to be like this doesn’t have to be this way still.

You choose to embrace only the horror rather than all of the good that you have forgotten, I don't understand why, and so goodbye. I will preserve the good memories, because I don't want to remember you poorly, and I am sorry I cannot say the same for you. It was youth and it was discovery, and people cannot do everything right the first time around, I've learned.

I deserve more credit, for I was only a boy. Inquiries, update checks, and a few phone calls so soon after The End should not equate a level of utter fear in you, especially for one’s life. They should show simply that detachment after years of symbiosis is just a little bit difficult for someone. Not that they are murderers or psychos that need to be harnessed by the authorities.

Abuse is a word used for puppies that are locked in cages waiting for injection, or for women that get beaten in the face or emotionally battered by drunken spouses. Not a boy who doesn’t know any better, but still had a lot to learn.

And remember Him? Je ne regret tien, you say. But remorse, all I asked. Not your fuck fantasies where you come and come and forget and forget.

Listen. It’s simple. I will miss the you I knew and loved, and never say never, and because you are punctuated in my life's timeline I will never forsake you and I will always wonder about you. These are just some words, but all words count. I’m pretty sure you know that.

Please don’t hurt yourself.

Everything will be okay one day. I promise.

I know you will never see this.

But that’s more than okay. I did it for me.


Goodbye, my lover.

Goodbye, my friend.