You asked me to wear the lemon dress

The day I met you is imprinted in my mind. I remember every detail: the Verve playing in my headphones, the grey hued sky, the all-consuming conversations and the scent of coffee intermingling with rain-soaked tar. You were smart. You were soft. You were emotionally attuned. I wanted you, desperately.

At first, I resisted. I turned you away because I knew deep in my guts, something was off. I excused myself by saying I wasn’t ready. I explained how prior to meeting you, I’d started drafting an alternative story. I spoke animatedly of my intentions to throw myself into the depths of discomfort and flesh out a meaty life for myself. 

You were well researched. You spoke the language of a politician desperate to get into office, so when you assured me that you could slot seamlessly amongst my pages, I believed you. 

Perhaps it was because you knew how to cry? Or because you always knew when I needed to eat and when I was neglecting myself? Or was it because you intuitively understood that when all else fails, speak the language of songs? Irrespective of reasoning, I wanted nothing more than to be cocooned inside your arms.

When I warned you of my fragility, you promised to handle me delicately. You appreciated me as though I were a precious heirloom one stumbles upon once in a lifetime. You said I was safe because I was the love of your life.

And I was, until I made you mad.

I wish someone had told me earlier that if your lover brings a box of band aids to a first date, they’ll unequivocally wound you under the guise of trying to fix you. 

But you waltzed in and made my nerve endings dance synchronously, didn’t you?You sent flowers, composed poems and cooked dinner for me, right? You possessed the vocabulary of a seasoned psychologist; you said the right things precisely when they needed to be said, so you couldn’t have possibly meant it when you said you wanted me to suffer, could you? 

You said, “I prefer a natural look”. 

I wore less makeup. 

You said, “femininity is attractive”.

I went shopping for dresses. 

You said, “be softer, talk quieter, actually don’t talk to that person at all”.

I gagged myself.

You took to picking at these older versions of me, like pulling lose thread after lose thread off a cheaply made sweater, you convinced us both that you were mending me, all the while painstakingly pulling me apart at the seams until I was utterly devoid of structure and integrity. You forced me to discard of myself, then turned a blind eye when I crumpled to the floor with all the other useless landfill. 

It was my fault for being difficult though, wasn’t it? Was it really that hard for me to drink less when out with my friends, stop wanting the attention of others, compliment you more, get on my knees and do what you fucking say?

I shouldn’t have said no, should I? I should have tried harder. 

Then again, it was never really me that you wanted, was it? You wanted finessed fragments, docility, as opposed to discernment. Akin to Goldilocks, you wanted your woman just right, and when I wasn’t, you left me wishing I’d messed around with the bears instead, because at least they’d have ripped me apart with conviction. Unlike you, they wouldn’t have licked my dregs off their lips then said, “well it wasn’t my intention to eat you”. 

Reflecting on how you so masterfully morphed from security blanket into the monster under my bed while I watched on perplexes me still. My brain has ached for months under the weight of my own reeling. I stopped counting the sleepless nights spent raging war with myself all in the attempt to answer the most onerous question of all; why did I stay? 

I stayed because despite the devastating lows, the highs with you were euphoric. I stayed because you distorted my reality and resultingly forced me to lose all trust in my own perceptions. I stayed because you made me feel worthless. I stayed because you annihilated my nervous system with sly savagery. I stayed because you dressed your vitriol up as support, advice and betterment. I stayed because although you pushed me down, you were also the one picking me back up. I stayed because you sold the antidote for the anxiety you riddled me with. I stayed because you made me feel like no one else cared about me. I stayed because you stole my joy, and for moment there I was uncertain I’d ever get it back. I stayed because I fucking loved you before you took the parts that make me me and crushed them between your filthy, calloused hands.  

You deserve accolades, a round of applause for your range, truly. It seems you were deserving of the acknowledgment and praise I never gave you after all. Rest assured, for the next act, I’ll B.Y.O the audience. This time however, I’ll steal the show back, flip the narrative on its head by homing in on why I left.

I left because I’m indestructible.  

I left because I remembered who the fuck I am. 

 -She’s still burning