Thanks for holding on to me.
I own you.
Every time you think of me, you dig my scepter deeper and deeper into your heart.
You think you’re winning by not forgiving me.
You think you’re defending yourself.
You think you’re being tough.
But in reality, you’ve already lost. And you’re re-living that loss over and over again every time my memory crosses the screen of your mind.
You grit your teeth.
Your heart beats faster.
Your life shortens.
And I love it.
You’re bringing on your own suffering. According to me, you’re on autopilot. I can be here, miles away. Lifetimes away. I don’t even have to be thinking of you.
But just like a worm on the end of my hook, there you remain. Squirming every time your resentment builds.
It’s laughable. You think you’re hurting me.
Well, I’ve long forgotten you, my forlorn friend. Until just now, you’ve been a distant memory.
Thanks for keeping our relationship alive.
Thanks for doing all the dirty work for me, long after we had our ‘issue’. You make it so easy. You practically hold my boot heel to your throat and squeeze.
I am your infection.
I am the unforgiven.