For once in your life, just listen. Don’t talk. Listen.

It’s a mad thing you’re doing. A method of torture that is both excessive and unnecessary. It’s like murder, only untraceable. It’s taking a broken bone, twisting apart the torn muscles, and watching open wounds drain me. I can almost see you smiling from where you stand, looming above me. You’re laughing. The sound is nothing like the melodic chuckle I remember. It’s perverted now; gut wrenching and horrific.

You’re happy. I can see it. You’ve grown so much stronger, so much taller, so much darker. Your tears have been replaced with malice, and your smile with hatred. I can see the difference in you: how your interests changed, how your own self loathing has made you suffer.

But, my dearest, I have grown too. Under your chains and shackles, I have wings. They are longer, now. They are brighter and they are stronger. Their tips are frayed with your wretched intent, but they are healing faster than you can hurt them. They can break your bonds that you use to keep me locked in your twisted fascination, and they can carry me far. Your chamber is no longer my home, and with the wings I’ve grown, it will be nothing but behind me.

I loved you. I truly did. But how you are now… You never loved me.

And I am over you.