Love letter # 424

This is where it ends. The years. My complicity.

For a long while I believed you. After that, I merely wished not to disbelieve. Then I saw too clearly.

I contemplated fury; was tempted by the colder unfurling of vengeance. Instead, I played a longer game, and you, righteous and entitled, stumbled towards this moment. Now you know that I know, and have known for some time.

Perhaps you thought you were getting away with it, or that I desired it. Deserved it. I saw how you tried to convince yourself that you were doing nothing wrong. I let it run this far because I wanted you to bind yourself up in the shackles of your own conceit. I worked quietly to close off the escape of denial.

Yes, I primed you for this moment; not merely for the spectacle of your astonishment or the useless victory of your suffering but for the benefit of the one who comes next.

You feel hard done by. Betrayed. To your friends you will moan about my setting of traps. Some will probably side with you. But really…you know. And now you cannot avoid it.

In the vacuum that this missive seals, let the airless cell you have made for yourself remind you what it is to breathe. And when you emerge, be absolutely clear. If the love you declare is a mask for control, a means of incarceration, you will never be free. Never be able to relax.

What if the next one is not as forgiving?