Words spin around inside my head. But when I run, they all line up. They come at me one by one, crisp, clear and rigid. I know who I am and I know what I want, with such certainty I can capture it with every sense I have.
Have I been blind from then until now? Leading myself to believe I’m invested in you so you can invest in us? But all the while you’re quietly investing only in yourself.
You’ve conveniently never offered to take responsibility for anything me. Anything us. And us can last so long as you choose. At least I can could on my youth to know that you’re not just waiting until I’m gone to take what I have, take what I’d inherited.
But with careful precision, a murder could slip past with no revenge. Should I be paranoid? No one ever thinks they’re a target. No one ever plans for a spontaneous end. But the thought of helplessness in my alone, own, lonely inability to exist brings me to tears for anyone who has, anyone who will face this reality.
Do we ever really trust? Do we ever really know?
We do all come to our end alone.