A break up.

Dear A,
I probably wouldn’t tell you how I feel. I wouldn’t let you in on a lot of my secrets. I won’t let you know when you’ve hurt me, and I wouldn’t allow you to feel sad. I won’t talk to you about what my dreams are. I wouldn’t share my nightmares with you either. I wouldn’t travel with you. I wouldn’t think of a future with you. I wouldn’t write about you. I wouldn’t read to you or buy you gifts. Most of all, I wouldn’t let you know how much I would love to do everything I’ve just mentioned. I’d box it up and seal it, push it to the farthest corner of the darkest part of my mind and then cover it with maroon sheets and place an orchid in a flower vase on top of the sheets, just to distract you. And outside, there will be a dragon for extra security. I can’t share what goes on, no, because if I share it means I actually feel them and that means I am vulnerable again. No, I think I like the box in the far away corner. It seems to be cosy up there, so I’ll let it be. As the dust settles on the sheets, and the maroon turns to a dull red, I’ll learn to never let anyone in. They will remain secrets until I run into that part of you which acually doesn’t need my permission to enter the dungeon because that person will know that the dragon doesn’t know how to breathe fire and that the secrets I have kept need to be unearthed. No, you don’t know me. You know that part of me which I’ve let you in on, for all these years. You think you know me and I’ll let it be like that. Each time we’ve spoken, I’ve let you assume and I’ve never corrected you because you seem happy to believe in what you believe. Happiness is my gift to you, even though ignorance isn’t something you’re fond of. I know you. I know you because you’re not guarded like I am. You’re free. You have the freedom I desire and I live it through you, and I just didn’t have the heart to let you in on my secrets. The secret which screams out loud about how I’m not who you think I am. I am proud of myself; I pretend very well, to have fooled you for this long, fools live happily and happiness is my gift to you. No, to think of it, I don’t have to pretend. I just keep quiet. Every time I see assumptions flood in, I drift into my cool, dark corner and allow you and everyone else to be happy. What good does an argument do, anyway? You’ll call me passive and indifferent but I just want you to feel like you know me, because you look so joyous when you feel triumphant..triumphant of having known me and been with me for twenty five long years. Foolish, at the same time, to have assumed that in those years I remained the same person, like a stagnant pool of water trapped in a crack underground; nowhere to escape and no reason to, either. I had reasons and I did use them, probably only too subtle for you to have noticed. I grew in depth and with it grew the darkness that shrouded my box of desires, and you, like a fool, felt you knew me. You were happy, like any fool would be, so I let it be because happiness has always been my gift to you. I have loved you, and you love me, or so you think. Is it me or the idea of me that you’re in love with? It isn’t your fault, I clouded the proof you needed to accept who I had become but what if you didn’t like me anymore? You probably wouldn’t, because I know you. You’re free and it’s your freedom that inspires me to end it with you. I can’t pretend or be quiet anymore. I’ve grown too deep to come out of it, and I can’t hold my breath any longer.
I wish you knew, but I wouldn’t let you in on my secrets anyway. I love you, because I know you and I know that you’ve tried your best. If you ever come across a tamed dragon, know that it’s I who has sent it for you, because I’ll miss you enough to risk it.

Love,
Z.

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