Why do I do it?
Why do I forget that you’re you – an individual – living in that skin?
It was my fault. Really, it always is.
I know how to give you what you don’t even know you’re looking for. To turn bitterness into love. But I neglect my wisdom.
“How did I make you feel?” he says.
“What did my actions make you think?” he says.
“I want to show you that I care,” he says.
Cue rejection. I demand. “It doesn’t matter how I feel. Just do something about it. Take responsibility for your actions.”
“It’s not all my fault, you know,” he says.
“You forget to change, too,” HE says.
I let it spiral. He leaves.
HE is still here, though. HE nudges me. I divert. HE tries again. I think.
HE does it once more.
I forget you, YOU, because I’m in the way. My pride of body, mind, control.
No one taught me to do what I do. It’s innate – a special delivery from sinful nature – evil itself. And I relish it. Even when I taste that it’s bitter, as I always find relish to be. I am nothing without HIM.