Your look of surprise is a refreshing elixir to my bitter soul.

You were sure I was history when you betrayed my heart and callously left me behind. What you didn’t know is how I watched, from behind the scenes, as you slowly fell apart. You trapped yourself when I wanted to free you; you disregarded me when I tried to motivate you, so I made every effort to avoid anything to do with you.

Still, I watched, and the years went by. During that period of revulsion I found others to fulfill my loneliness, a kind of healing for the rest of me. The part you took was burned to ash, its remains still connected by an indescribable need to see you suffer.

You descended from a pleasant, hardworking boy into a surly, moody idiot who has no identity. You never became a man. You hid behind all the same excuses, fed the same habits, changed without changing.

I moved on, just to get to this moment. I stand before you. At first you don’t recognize me.

Your look of surprise is a refreshing elixir to my bitter soul.