It was as if I were staring at shattered glass. Every piece reflected a different angle of the same reality, but no matter how many I examined nothing could help me put them back together into something whole or conclusive.
But sometimes the truth is like that. Shattered, varied and impossible to grasp, at least not without cutting yourself.
She let him speak to himself his darkest fears when his grief had gone in for the kill. Told him she loved him, but handed him to his demons instead.
“Told he’d be his own Father’s infidelity, his legacy—a false charmer that would let hearts molder at his word.”
Said she loved him too much to stay.
Too much to lend a helping hand?
“And that’s where he’d lost himself, in a doubtful fear of becoming that.”
“I can’t keep beating myself up over you.”
You are not worth the pain I feel.
“It had broken the women who had cherished his birth and now had materialized those words in action, a disdain at the face she saw in him.”
If she had ever truly known him, she would have known it was his greatest fear.
“He had fallen into a place where he clawed at his character; his own insecurities were the Cerberus in the abyss he’d taken comfort in.”
No, if she had ever loved him, she surely didn’t now.
Quotations taken from “Rusted Tracks” by ZaidLux.tumblr.com