The Mushpit

Dare you to come up with lines mushier than these.

Love, love is not a bargaining chip.  It is not kryptonite to make your superman submit.  It’s a lame comparison, but it will have to do for now.  It’s hard to think straight when it’s raining sorrows and I’m desperately treading in a pool of grief.  

When I told you that everything I am is yours– I also asked you to be careful.  I said the last phrase in a half-whisper because I don’t want you to think that I’m giving myself to you saddled with a condition.  I said it because I am fragile.  And you can easily break me. 

When I offered myself, I also gave you free rein to hurt me.  It’s alright.  It is unthinkable that one can love and not hurt.  It is not something that can be avoided.  It will happen– sometimes consciously, and sometimes without you knowing; like it has happened now.

I cannot bring up the things you unconsciously did, or even those things you knew fully well wounded me and yet you go on as if nothing happened, without reopening old scars that I have tried to bury with time.  Those things are forgotten.  They are in the past.  They no longer require commiseration for them to be entirely erased from my memory. 

There’s no need for an apology either.  Only strangers require apologies.  Even before I gave in to your requests, those things that I know would pain me immensely to fulfill, I have already forgiven you.  I am hurting but I’m not vengeful.  Being hurt is an affirmation that I have loved, and loved deeply. 

I do not relish the pain.  Who would?  But I accept it as part of loving. 

Now that you know that you can wound me at will, I only ask that you be kind and think gently before you utter a careless word, or ask a reckless request.