Fuck you

A cracked teacup on a cold morning. That's what it feels like now, this…thing. This hollowness where your laughter used to bounce. Fuck you. Simple words, ugly truth. Needed. Like air after holding my breath for too long. Too long pretending. Too long smiling. Too long forgiving. I did love you. Not the way birds love the sky, free and limitless. More like a plant loves sunlight, desperate, needing. My roots tangled around your promise. Your promise of forever. Your promise of warmth. Your promise… Now the plant is withering. The roots are brittle. And the sun is gone. Fuck you, for taking the sun. It's not just anger, you know. It's grief. A ragged-edged mourning for something that never really was. A phantom limb that aches with remembered touch. A stupid, stubborn hope that refuses to die completely. I loved you, despite. Despite the lies. Despite the silence. Despite the growing chasm between our hands. I loved you, fiercely, foolishly, blindly. A love that burned so bright it scorched everything around it. Especially me. Fuck you for making me burn. And thank you. For showing me the ashes. For proving that even fire can be extinguished. For revealing the strength it takes to rebuild. To plant new seeds. To find a new sun. Because despite the cold, cracked teacup, Despite the withering plant, Despite the burning ashes, I will. I will rise. And I will love again. But this time, I'll love myself enough to say: Fuck you. And mean it. A hollow echo in the air, a phrase sharp edged, a jagged tear. Fuck you. A guttural sound, a bitter taste, on words of love, now gone to waste. I loved you. For what? A phantom warmth upon my skin, a memory of where you'd been. For what? Empty promises, a vacant stare, a hollow space, a silent prayer. For what? Nothing. Just air and dust and fading light, a lonely road throughout the night. Nothing. A broken trust, a shattered dream, a silent, agonizing scream. Nothing. So fuck you then, for all you stole, the broken pieces of my soul. Nothing.