Blame

I don’t really blame him, you know.

I don’t blame him for the wreck that I am.

I was already a broken ornament

that was rigged together randomly

to survive this wretched world.

Attempting to stay strong and keep it together,

since I was a child.

The abuse.

Academically independent.

The abuse again.

Forbidden love.

Parental miscommunication.

Highlights of the bullshit I had to brush off my shoulder.

And he comes along,

turning this independent cold-hearted woman,

to an actual human being,

just because he listened to me carefully;

attentive to the smallest details;

with no judging remarks nor pity;

constantly commenting on my strength,

but also leaving room for my weaknesses,

because realistically speaking I have both.

I don’t really blame him

for any pain he might think he has caused,

because truth be told, he was my version of Hope –

if Hope was in human form.

He proved that this world isn’t as hopeless

as I might think it is.

But it’s easier to blame someone else

for the emptiness you have inside,

rather than on your lack of strength

to deal with this lonely life.

I don’t blame him

because he loved me;

the sinned me;

the abused me;

the weak me;

the strong me;

the hardworking me;

Me.

If anything,

I thank him.

For showing me that I still deserved to be loved.

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