eulogy 4
If I could burn back the moment the wick was first lit, the single glance that started this slow, tragic decay, I would not just turn, but un-know the face of it, and walk into a life where you never crossed my way.
If I could stand again in that office, that tight, stolen space, The day your hand first risked that forbidden, soft brush— And be given the choice: that touch or never knowing your face— I would choose the absolute quiet of the necessary hush.
One year ago, I called a chaotic void by your name, Mistook shared shame for a spiritual core's saving grace. But our foundation was poisoned, our love a cheap flame, A temporary shelter in a crumbling, false place.
Three months is not time; it is the stuck hour we share, Where the trauma still smokes, and the oxygen is thin. We didn't cling for love; we clung out of deep, mutual despair, two wreckage survivors trapped by the ruin we were in.
I know now the chemistry of it all: a survival reflex. You were the only witness to the raw, unspeakable dread. And the comfort of that horror became the complex deception I mistook for the truth my heart should have led.
This is not love. The feeling is extinguished. I am done. Love seeks light; this is the desperate, clutching dark. I was addicted to the crisis, but that addiction is now run. You are only the witness, and no longer the profoundest mark.
The lens is absolute. I am severing the tie. I choose the sharp, clean silence that follows the true word. I regret the entire story, the whole dangerous, necessary lie. My skin still remembers the phantom weight of your touch, though my mind rejects it. I am stepping over the threshold that should have always been there, and pulling myself out of this chemistry, slow inch by heavy inch. Now watch the space where I stood and understand my silent vow: The life I regret having chosen is officially over now.
Chloe