I was loved.
I was a man, nay, a girl.
It seemed he did not love me, but as I went, I listened to him, followed his orders, whether it was falling to my death or taking a certain route to him. I was pleased when he forgived me, complimented he questioned if I was excited, or frightened, to see him soon, I was happy, and so was he. And I knew, really, he loved me.
I am so happy you are mine. I loved you, always.
That was when I was a girl, nay, a woman.
I hated him.
Was I a man, or a girl?
I disagreed with his every whim. I wasn't to die. I did everything I could to make him hate me as well; even if it meant dying, shattering into a million pieces over and over and over. I was frightened to see him, though, thinking what he would do to me. Eat me, kill me, maybe? But I hated him.
Why do you hate me? I loved you.
But I did not.
Where will you go? Will you be close to me?
And go I did, as a woman, not a girl.
I was not sure. I did not know.
I think I was a woman, then a boy.
I followed, denied; sometimes she would call me a good boy, sometimes she would describe me as an ugly creature. I was frightened, and I did not know which of her words to believe in. So, I heeded both. And she thought I hated her. I did not know.
Where will you go? Will you be close to me?
I decided to stay, to swirl around and linger like a lost soul on the earth of black and white- I already was.
We can begin again.
And I walked on forever as a boy, no, not a boy, but a man.