A/T: This is not exactly a poem, at all. It is moreover a narration of reminiscence.
My Sacrifice
That which is evil,
that which can hide,
can never be shown when it is given support,
from its ever so domestic owner.
"They all think I am so immature, so late in blooming, but yet I have feelings and senses. Can they not see, what is in front of them. Can she not see this? …"
She kept a picture, a beautiful frame, of him under her bed. A smile, slept under the glass of it - showing how hard it would be to reach him. Showing that she was not strong enough to shatter the fragile composition.
How hard it had been, to watch him leave, to watch him suffer in battles - and yet he still could move on. He still could leave things and tragedies behind him. Why can't she?
Slowly, she reached under the mattress by which she lay on, and pulled out the one thing that was for her eyes only. The smile, the sole thing that he had that she couldn't get to, was pridefully gleaming in her eyes.
Each time they would meet up, just to see each other, he would act uninterested - so lonely. He would seem like everything around him was useless, even her.
She couldn't understand why, she could not muse the feelings that had grown inside of her were so. Why had a seed been planted at the back of her heart, and then bloom in later years when the hardest time of her life was at hand? It had grown all around the red beating structure, and strangled it with such tight control. So strict...so...tyrant.
"I'm sorry..." she would say to herself. Apologizing for loving him, and not giving anything to show for it.
She had shown her hate, her disapproval, her disgust towards him. Everything was just to show how much she could not stand him - yet it was just part of what she really felt. He would give her his consent, his comforting amateur words of kindness, and his protection from all the things that had attempted - and never once succeeded because of him - to kill her.
She was so...useless.
