From the opposite side of a wall, I can feel your presence. I can sense your mind wandering back to dark places you swore to shut out. I knew you, rare one. You and I used to see each other in familiar light. We basked in illusions of a fantasy world. We were happy. Or maybe that was an illusion too. All we know is silence, now. All we know is hate.
This silence that clouds the air between us, is thick like fog, and distorts our images. I barely know your face anymore. I once knew every part of you. I knew where to tickle, where to touch, where to stroke. You never resisted me. Not ever. I knew every corner of your mind. I knew just how to push. You were mine, rare one. You were all mine.
I took you, made you my own. I led you into my own sweet corruption, and we danced. Walking was never for us. We were always waltzing.
You moved to my entrancing melody. I led you, swung you, and dipped you. I made us the envy of all that watched.
No one knew the silent sorrows of your heart.
I was cruel. I know it. I hurt you over and over again. Sometimes I did it just to have a laugh, just because I knew you would come crawling back. There were times, rare one, when I felt sorry for the things I did. But that regret always came too late.
I remember the letters you used to write to me, telling me I was the only one. Assuring me you were loyal to no one but me. I was sickened.
That sickness drove me to madness.
After so many tears, you broke away. You bit and clawed at my last holds on you. You made me jump back in surprise, yowl and hiss. You made me crawl back from whence I came to lick my wounds.
You thought you’d beaten me…and for a time you did. You lived happily, decently. You thrived off the pain of my stung heart. I fed you, as you once did me. It hurt you to think that. It hurt you to think you might be anything like me. It still hurts you to this day, rare one. To this day you cannot look in a mirror and not see the marks I once left on your neck. You cannot listen to your voice and not hear my own singing beside it. When you are beside the one you love now, you imagine my arms about your waist, my breath in your ear. You can practically taste the honey-drizzled words that flow off my tongue and pool in your heart. You’re so conflicted now. Unsure of what to do with the knowledge I gave you. I suspect you secretly find yourself desiring the crude and the gaudy. I think you still remember what it’s like to be fearless and unadulterated. I think you remember what it felt like to howl at the moon.
Sometimes I wish things could have been different, rare one. Sometimes I wish that I could have controlled the beast inside me. I think that if you did not know this killer, you would still love me and the world might still be rose-tinted…for both of us. Even if your shades were just slightly more blue.
I do commend your strength. You do not cut your wrists, your legs, or your hands. You do not drink or do drugs. You’ve tried to close up to all those bad, and immoral things I made you love. You live your life as any normal, moral Christian might.
You’ve become so boring.
I miss the days when we waltzed to our illness illusion. I miss those moments when your face was close to mine. I miss the sound of your laugh. I miss you calling my name, and most of all I miss the love in those beautiful blue eyes.
Those eyes won’t look at me today. They’ve feigned forgetting my existence.
I can never forget you, rare one.
I can never forget that you have seen the killer in me.
I can never forget your leaving taught me what it meant to love.
I can never forget, rare one, how much I loved our dance.
Some night, when the moon is full, I’ll come back and hold out my hand. On that night you will take it and our dance will begin again. In that moment when your eyes return to mine, remember…
You still love me…