A Letter to Someone Cruel

I wish I could forgive you. But I can’t. I’m merciless in that regard. When you spoke about my brother, I remember it so vividly. I remember laying on my right side, my green pillow beneath my head and my left eye and bang visible on the FaceTime. You were in your car, in your white coat stained with makeup on the collar. You looked so dark against the backdrop of the lingering winter. So beautiful. I made a remark, and it truly wasn’t malicious. I know me. I know when I say things mean. I usually mean them. I know too when what I say is even backhanded. Most of what I say is with purpose, meticulous in thought. You said your brother chased people with swords, threatened them as a young boy. I said that’s crazy with a soft laugh- soft, because I know children. Soft because I love children, and know how their brains work for the most part. Soft, because he is your brother. Soft, because I am soft naturally. When I’m not being purposeful.

I remember I still had a smile on my lips, serenity in my soul when you responded. I’d shifted an inch to glance at the lights on my wall. It was daylight but I was in the darkness aside my twinkle lights. You said “at least my brother didn’t actually try to kill me.”

God, the pain in my body. In my soul. I can only imagine it’s the calm you feel before someone stabs you. Before you’re jolted to reality in such a painful way. Out of rest. Out of calm. Out of normalcy.

I remember the serenity in my body forming to tensed muscles. I know my vision darkened on its edges, and I looked to my window. You didnt immediately apologize. You just watched me for a few seconds until I spoke. Like you wanted to see it set. Wanted it to hurt. I told you it did. And you didn’t apologize. You went on the defensive.

I hate giving you the excuse of being young. But when I was 20 I did worse. So I can’t blame you, not really. But I still do. I still hurt. Still feel that betrayal.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt so hurt. No ones ever spoken against my brother like that. They’ve said horrible, horrible things but none of them could ever use Aidan against me. I must not have mentioned him then.

Every time I mention him now it’s with resistance. Hesitance pooling on my tongue. I have to force it out like teeth being pulled. How horrible is that? And when I’m speaking to you, when it doesn’t hurt, I then remember.

And it kills me. You meant to hurt me. You don’t think so. But I know mean. I know that vitriol. I know it’s taste and feeling. I won’t ever tell you that, because I know guilt. And guilt eats someone alive.

And I know that’s love, then, too. Because I don’t want you to hurt how I have. If I was a better person I’d keep it to myself. All of it. But I’m not. I’m trying to be. But for that I have to let go.

How do I let go?

I knew from our first date you wouldn’t be good for me. I remember that same tensing after your little joke about kissing better. It’s my fault.

And you are still such a comfort. I loathe you for it.