You Let Him
by Tahira Rifath
He looked into your eyes, and you let him – you let him suck in every breath you took since you were brought to life. A life that for so long, rendered you a still born. Dead. Still. Mute. But you let him, you gave him access to that muscle that relentlessly beats – day in and day out – to have you so willingly have him crush it. But your heart is no match for his ice cold soul, that ever so cunningly seeps and infects your every breath. The very same ones you have him breathe. Because you see, you let him. You had his delicate fingers wrap around your neck, and ever so patiently let him strangle you. You gasped, he smiled, you begged, he laughed. But you let him. You let him crush your limbs and drag you down six feet under into pitch black darkness. You saw nothing but his shadows, heard only his faintest laughs, and when the moons aligned, tasted his bitter tears. You let him. You let him crush your lungs and drown you in the saltiest of waters, and when you begged and begged for him to set you free, you were caressed in his smiles. Pearly whites that gave you the air you so longingly pleaded for. Breathe.
But you see, it was the light that guided you; his and only his, ever so brightly it guided you to the waters where he waited every night. Every night he yearned for nothing else but to see your smiles. And you let him. You charged his protons and had him traverse the galaxies; touch naked skin; discover untouched land. You had him freezing cold keys seek refuge in every house that populated your soul. Door after door, broken down. House after house, vandalised – until you lay naked, vulnerable against everything that once brought you to life. You gave him the ropes that cast you into the seven seas just to see his light. Just to see those smiles, to hear his laugh, to make him happy. But he yearned for nothing else but to darken your glow. You lay motionless in the waters every night awaiting hir unblemished glances. But you were only welcomed with darkness. Every night you waited.
And now, six feet under, you wait for the rest of your life for the very same soul to anchor you back to the light. But there’s no anchor in sight, only darkness. You shouldn’t have let him.
But you did.