Damn you for making me want to cry again. For running out, yet again, because I showed a little spine. Because I wasn't cowed, because I tried to be different, tried to be happier. Damn you. I was just sitting here this evening, wondering how you'd act if I messaged you, wondering if you were still angry, because I missed you. Damn you for sitting around and pretending like you know and feel everything. Like you are so wise, and so experienced. Damn you for trying to undermine my sense of self so completely that I wonder if I haven't turned into something wrong, something less. Damn you for twisting my words to make them fit your sense of being slighted, your sense of feeling attacked. Damn you for never, ever being willing to see my point of view or try to meet me halfway.

Damn me for letting you all this time. For wanting you, and loving you, despite the fact that you want me submissive and malleable. Damn me for taking so to not be such a doormat. And damn me because I will cry, I will wonder, I will miss, I will hope.

Damn you for always taking away.