It stings, does it not? They
trickle into your conscious. Then, like hot oil they burn slowly through the
layers of defence, get under your skin and linger. Fester. You can claw at
them, but once said they dig deeper and deeper until they discover the softest
and most vulnerable spot.
And they are just words.
I watch you now, as the edge of my voice breaks you. It feels good to be able
to knock the air out of your lungs just by using my vocal cords. You may think
it is not taking any effort on my part, that I like doing this. But it is as
painful for me as it is for you. Yet, there is satisfaction as I watch the
impact of my words reach your eyes. Flickering uncertainty.
If I wanted, I
could turn a single syllable into a weapon, a sigh into an insult, my lips into
hatred. I chose this one sentence with care. The words I knew would injure you
most, make your life falter. See, I know how to get you, where to get you, when
to get you. I bet you wish you had not let me this far in.
You stand there, silent, as if I have deprived you of air, placed you in a
vacuum. Your arms cling motionless along the sides of your body, the wine
bottles sit in front of you on the mat like abandoned children, and the one
lace you had time to undo before I demolished your world looks like a dead vine
that has lost all its leaves.
But they are just words.
I love you.
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