I let myself be fully open and vulnerable before you.
I let you foster closeness and encourage care and love.
I let you punish me for giving.
I let you hurt me for caring.
I let you pretend yourself innocent and put-upon, harassed even, by its arrival.
I let you cut me repeatedly for things that were never my fault.
I let you use faith to support your abuse.
I let you get away with saying you were entitled to behave in this manner.
I let you use and abuse me.
I let you make me feel wrong about telling the truth.
I let you convince me that remaining was an appropriate thing and thus, enabled your abuse of me to continue, unabated.
I was wrong. So very. I learn the lesson of you, for which I am deeply thankful, and realize that it was not you that I loved, but what I could see you wanted to become.
I realise now that you are unable. Ironically, the phrase echoes here, “Not this life.”
I accept that you were telling me all along that you were unable.
I realize that it was something I did not want to hear, or believe.
I admit I should have done both.
I release from my thoughts The Man Who Does Not Exist in you, and I release you as well.