You hate me, I can tell. You don’t always shot it, but it’s there—beneath. It’s not up front. Oh no, never! It’s there, though, lurking just under the surface of your eyes. I can tell. I see it. Hiding, sneaking, creeping, concealing it’s self. It’s a shadow of doubt that the jury has when convicting a man to death. No one in their right mind ever wants to kill a man. It mingles with other, fleeting emotions, but always lingers.
You taunt and chide me. Mocking, loathing, whispering deceit behind my back. I hear it, beckoning me into an abyss of self insecurity.
I stand firm, guarded against your torment.
You stare at me with bloodthirsty eyes.
My heart beats rapidly, thudding against my chest, trying to break free so that it my run from the spot I have nearly shackled myself too. We remain there, frozen in time, locked in a battle of wills or stubbornness. What is the difference?
Eventually, we part ways, nearly simultaneously. You take one path and I the other. We do not speak as we go, just simply break eye contact.
You hate me and I hate you. It’s mutual, the only thing we ever had in common. It’s the reason we did not remain together.