*This is a older project that is being re-posted on this blog. It was originally published by Quetzal and can be found here.
I don’t think I’ll ever miss you.
I don’t think I’ll ever truly let you go either.
That’s the way it’s always been for us. I could never fully commit- or ever fully quit. You teased me with the idea of freedom, but you never meant it.
You made me feel alive. Like I was moving through air. Your song coursed through my veins and begged me to stay. Whispering my name.
But you were killing me.
While my body loved to move; loved the feeling of floating, my mind was screaming- crying- begging me to stop.
Every day I stood in front of you while you judged me. While you held me up against other girls- younger, older, prettier, more graceful, flexible, able to nail that 5th turn every time- and told me that I was never good enough.
At one point that drove me farther. Eager to test the limits of your love. Eager to be the best you could have.
And then I just stopped.
Because I no longer wanted you to love me. I wanted to hate you, and I did. I do.
Your kiss was teasing, taunting, enticing. It was the kiss of death, but one I always craved.
After all, you’ve always been a good kisser.
Without you, I wouldn’t be who I am today. I wouldn’t be strong, I wouldn’t be free.
But I also wouldn’t be so quick to tears.
So quick to know that you hated me. Everyone in your world was harsh, and capable of bringing any girl to tears with a single look.
Because judging is the center of your love.
Judging and competition are what make your love stronger.
And if someone makes it into that center, and doesn’t want to scream and jump off the edge, then they win. They win because they won your love.
And that was all any of us ever wanted.