Don’t tell me you care for me. Clearly, you don’t. Don’t tell me you feel my pain. Cearly, you can’t. Don’t say you will always be there for me. Clearly, you won’t.
Words have power only when they convey truth — truth as it is, not as you wish it to be. So don’t say anything to me if your actions betray your words. If you must say these things to help you sleep at night, then say it to yourself, but spare me your idle words of support. It hurts more to uncover a well-intentioned lie than to endure an unwelcome truth.
And, I am hurt. And, my wounds drip the will to live. And, I watch the gathering puddle as it slowly disappears into the ground below me. And, as I sink into the mud, I think about how deep the bog has become, the innumerous drops needed to create such an inescapable pit, the countless bleeding wounds from which they spilled.
So, don’t tell me anything; simply show me what you feel.
