Love letter # 125
Things understood slowly are all the more dreadful. The creeping dawn. The inescapable conclusion. The fact I got away with it.
It wasn’t you, babe – it was me. I was the screw up. You told me who you were but I pretended you were someone else. I was the deluded one – you were just crazy.
What a fire you were – but that was no excuse. I chose these burns. They were all I had of you.
But I’m here now – and I quite like it.