My Love

    I often compared myself to objects in my room. I would compare myself to the ceramic unicorns placed upon my shelves, so easy to shatter and rather plain in appearance, or the collection of various mismatched snowglobes scattered across my shelves, with broken music boxes and out of place appearances, or the empty candle jars hid away in my draws, burnt out and lacking purpose. 

    I used to wonder why I was waking up in the morning, why I went through the effort to do the things I had to do, what motivated me to go to where I was going, and where I was even going in the first place. I used to think you were that for me, but I see now how wrong I was. 

    I realize now that you had to have stopped caring about me. Hell, I’m beginning to wonder if you ever even really cared for me in the first place. It was so hard to believe that you, of all people, could love a woman like me, and now I realize why. That’s because you were never interested in my heart, you were interested in the fur you saw on my back, weren’t you?

    You didn’t love me on the nights when we slept together, you loved the nights when the moon shone high in the sky and you could chase me for sport. You loved the nights when I was scared and alone, running as far as I could from our bed. Those nights when you could pull your pristine shotgun from its mantel on the wall and aim it at me without hesitation. You never wanted a lover, you wanted something convenient and easy and out of your league. 

You disgust me you violent hunter, hunting me down and toying with me, giving me the false hope that you of all people were there for me, and you of all people could protect, and you of all the damn people in this world were actually on my side. I may have been blind to your wiles before but I am not the same person I was, and you made sure of that. You may have captured my heart in the past, but let the gods be damned if you think I will let you catch me.

So now, dear hunter, when I see the objects in my room, I don’t think of myself, I think of you. I think of everything I went through because of you, and all the attacks on my personality, and all the times you left me out in the cold, and all the times you decided I wasn’t important enough to you, and all the times I knew were coming in the future when you saw us as some cute little joke, and I simply give them away. I don’t have those objects anymore, my dear. I don’t think about you anymore, my sweet. You may upset me, but you no longer mean anything to me, my love.