ordinarywonder:
He wrote me a little love note today, to tell me how much he hated me. I could almost picture the corner of his lip, curved with contempt. His mouth making the shapes to spew out the words. Highly toxic, and released at a painful pace — like slow acting venom sluggishly moving through my veins. He pricks me with his frustrated admiration; the tip of a needle; the tip of his pen. He scribes the words onto the paper, as if it were into my flesh. He’d love to use my blood for ink. I’m the scarlet letter, of his transparency — because he understands that his needs are obvious; feelings, thoughts, and desires. He takes a peek at his own darkest fantasies, from between the lines of my metaphorical blinds. Like a voyeur looking through the window of his own mind. He tells me that I’ve stolen his innards, by peeling back his eyes, lips, and skin. I get underneath him, and within. He promises me that he hates me… and that’s the greatest compliment he could ever give. He signs “with deep respect.” I bite my bottom lip as I read his letter. I try to speculate, whether or not, one day — he’ll let me close enough to slip a real blade in.
