inspired by "Endless Love"

       Every good letter needs an opener,
       but I don't know what to call this one.
       "The end to many games"?
       “The realization of a lifetime”?
       Perhaps
       "An ode to the puppet master".
       Please forgive
       how long this took to figure out,
       I've always been inclined
       towards naivety.

I.
Oh what a fickle tale
of an obsession
and an exception.

You must know
this unfortunate story
is about you and I, right?
You've always been an exception to me,
but that is no longer
a compliment.
You are no longer an exception
to my ban on love,
or an exception
to people thinking soulmates
can't meet so young.

II.
The hands that held mine
were coated with exaggerations and little lies
I was too blind to notice.
It's rather unfortunate
that you felt the need to manipulate me,
I could have given you all you needed
without these strings attached.
I was always pliable.
You could ask me for anything,
and I would bend for you.
I didn't know much
in the way of "no"
when you were the one asking.

I didn't know what we had
was based on fallacies,
and even as it was discovered,
I justified it
and held those five months close to my chest.
White knuckles and all.
That's exactly why you are the exception
in this little story.
You have never been able to build love
without mixing in deceit and strife.
You are the exception
to what an unhealthy relationship looks like.
You made it look so perfect,
crystal clear in intention
and your mind appeared free of whimsy.
You were a wonderful actor,
but I beg you not to play the role anymore.
You cannot feed that to another girl,
do you understand?
Of course you do,
because no other girl ever has to worry.
It's not them that brings that out in you-
I bear that cross
alone.

III.
I've never stopped wanting it all with you,
and that leads me to wonder
how the hell that's the case
when you took it all
from me.
Love, of course,
is the answer.
Love always is,
but does the wreckage
leave room for doubt?
It always does.
You know you've got me at your whim,
whenever you want me I'll be there,
and I think it's time
that faith that I will follow
gets shaken.
I can't fall victim to your charms another day,
another minute,
even a second longer is too long.
You've wanted me
since the day you met me,
but it is to my detriment to let you have me.
To have me is to break me,
and I have been broken
by your hands
two too many times.

I always ask myself why it had to be you
that just can never seem to work.
No matter if we're 14 or 17,
no matter how mature we are,
we're somehow always too young
for what we're capable of.
We always go too far,
too soon,
and we fall too deep
into each other.
I bring out your worst,
your most primitive
and destructive edges.
I cannot be with someone
who looks at me with love,
but only knows how to ruin me.
Why did I never stop wanting you, then?

IV.
I (lied to) told myself,
I said I wasn't hypnotized,
I wasn't being played
like that guitar in eighth grade
I thought was made for your hands only.
Shame on the puppet for telling everyone
she didn't mind the yank of her strings.
Shame on the girl
who kept falling back on the boy
she could never find the truth in.
Truly a shame that I had this explained to me.
A great love story
kept on its toes for years after its tragic end,
only to be struck down by a revelation.
One founded not on an idea, or a eureka,
but on the sudden realization
that toxicity is all the story
brings in tow.

I've been a fool for you,
and I am still somehow willing to plan my future
around you coming back a changed man.
Tell me why I'd only be willing
to bear a child to a liar.
Tell me why if it isn't with you,
I don't want that child to exist.
Just fucking tell me
why you have so much power over my life.
Love can't just be
the be-all-end-all.
I want better excuses for my stupidity
and my hopefulness-
if there's even a difference between the two
at this point.
Common sense wants me to get rid of you.
Common sense, with it's oh-so-uncommon sensibility,
should know such a task is not so easy.
That lesson is slowly being learned.

V.
Our love is a strong one,
it has withstood the years
and travelled through the most hazardous of roads.
I'm certain its core has hardly felt a semblance of a rattle,
even throughout all of our earthquakes.
I'm sure if I never heard my mother's voice
when she told me, and how worried she was,
we would come back together as seamlessly
as we always have.
It's part of us, we always find our way back.
Never could stay away for long
before a glance was snuck,
or a smile exchanged,
or an "I'm sorry" was given.
Part of me continues to believe that our souls
have known each other since the start,
and that's just their funny little way of keeping in touch.
I'm sure I'll find you in the next life,
and maybe in that one you'll be okay for me.

It's all rather annoying.
Things would be easier if the core of my being
wasn't so drawn to you.
Why could you have not just been some guy,
whose name won't taste different than the others?
Why can we not be free of each other?
Why must I wear shackles with your name on them,
and why must you know my name in greater detail
than your own?
I often wonder
if I'm the only one wishing for that to change.

VI.
I've driven by your truck
many times since our glory days.
Sometimes I felt your father's eyes
burning into my head,
and others I smiled.
The last time, a few days ago,
I flinched.
It felt like touching an open wound.
Your truck headlights resembled the barrels of guns,
aimed right between my eyes,
because I've always been
what you're aiming for.
I know enough to know those barrels
in your headlights
have never been empty,
and you've never found another target.

I drove by and for the first time,
I really felt the yank.
I felt it in my bones,
in my chest,
in every nerve I felt it.
Even when you aren't around,
the puppeteer inside you
is always at work.
Your hold on my heart is too strong.
I have to be free of you,
you know that
right?

There's so much you offer that is wonderful,
and you brought out so much good in me.
I'm thankful for that, but I now know that I'm under a spell.
Your past gives me no reason
to believe your intentions are pure.
I can't believe you.
You spin lies like cotton candy
and with a sort of effortlessness,
more concerning than impressive.
Your line between burning passion
and burning me to ashes
is just a bit too blurry nowadays.
Maybe they always were.

Your eyes might be the reason I'm afraid of the ocean,
because there's so much beneath them
that I'm not sure I want answers to.
Do I want to know what you want from me?
Do I want further confirmation that I am nothing
but your favourite game?