Two Shots
I know what you always say.
You describe me as an eerie sort of perfection, so flawless that it frightens you at times. And without emotion, because that was always part of your definition of perfect.
But it was never mine.
Why do you do that? You're always disagreeing with me. I suppose you could say that I'm always disagreeing with you, but that should only be further proof of how wrong all of this is.
It isn't you, it's me. How often is that lie used to console a breaking heart? Contrary to all you believe, I do have a heart. I'm also more aware of yours than you think, than you wish.
I watch you struggle to be perfect, to hide everything you feel. Foolish girl. That isn't perfection. And you already are.
You see me as perfect, but you're blind. I am tainted, and you, the essence of purity. How is this so hard for you to understand? A concept that's been embedded in your mind for years, you erase so easily. And here I stand struggling to adjust to the revelation of your former point of view.
It's not supposed to be this way. You should be right. My very name signifies perfection, and your heritage by nature is slurred. Yet somehow I'm no longer looking out through those eyes, and I don't suspect I'll ever again be able to. But I've got to try, you see.
Because this isn't right. I know you think I only fear for my reputation, but that isn't so: I fear for yours. I fear for you.
I'll hurt you, you know. I carry only pain and suffering in my wake. It's all I've given you so far. Don't lie to me. You never were very good at it. In your eyes, your very heart is so clearly writ.
I used to think that it made you weak. But it further exemplifies your purity of heart, your absolute honesty.
How could you possibly want me, covered in layer upon layer of deception?
And how could I possibly want you, my polar opposite?
It doesn't matter why, I suppose. It doesn't even matter that I do. I can't. You're dying inside, I can see it, but it's better this way. It'd only hurt more later.
You'll love again. Laugh again. Cry again. Dance again.
And I'll be watching from the sidelines, while someone else makes you happy.
But it's better this way.