A piece of me, you don't know.

To be in love is to be oblivious to the truth. You know, how your favorite book ends and yet you read it like you've never read it before. Some part of us knew that our love was not going to last forever, yet hopelessly we hoped it would; we knew that our hand-built love would be decimated by human nature. To the extent we could, we even fought fate to be together, but what was in store for us, was to be ours.



Sometimes, when I wonder, what exactly happened. All I know that everything that occurred, our decline, the fall, was my fault. Each and every one.



The treasons were not defensible, just a hush and an " I don’t know" was all I had to say.Everything that took place was continuous, no time in between torebuilt, to renovate the broken base. I had become callous and aperson whom neither the Stranger nor I recognized. It was a face,bitter and ugly, hurtful and ridiculous, dubious and heartless.
I began breaking promises that mattered most to My Stranger.


I had Broken a promise - the one which held the most importance; the failure to obey it would push him over the edge. I had sworn to his life thatI would never hurt myself. Superstition says that swearing uponsomeone's life is unbreakable, and unforgivable is strayed away from.Breaking that promise means the life sworn upon will be taken away within three days. I broke that promise. His blood, tears and trust clung to my tainted hands, scars of deceit. I was a murderer.I spoke to his friends, so often that I began trusting them, anddoubting the words My Stranger whispered into my ear. They told lies about him so cleverly, spun wicked tales of hatred so sweetly, pulling me away from My Stranger. I, once love in his hands, was pliable and flexible in their palms. I confronted him and said, in the harshest of words :

'How much did you touch her?
''What we had, was it love or was it lust?'

I knew my questions would confuse him, would kill him, would take his insides and twist them, would make his heart bleed. I stabbed him again and again, atrociously spewing out memories I wanted to know about. Yes, I had become insensitive, narcissistic; self indulged,
Conniving, ruthless. Those few months, I lived, breathed, devoured and gave only hurt and bitterness.
Cold and unrelenting, I twisted his mind again and again. Under my facade of pretense and righteousness, I begged him to believe thatthis was love, that my paranoia and words of spite were justified,though they were not. Yet he forgave me, again and again, with hisheart of gold. He kept thinking I would change from the black-wingedangel of hurt to one with a halo. But I didn't. I watched him, witheyes glowing and insides burnt, envy my monster. I thrived on hisweakness like a cannibal, feeding on his flaw and making it stronger.All the suffering, the heartless misery came to a halt. He couldn'ttake it anymore. He decided to give me one more chance.

One more lie, One more fight, would have been like pulling the last holding brick ofa wall; and there it was, my final bullet aiming for that brick, my Last strike to destroy everything. As a serpent, I rose.

There was a three way conversation between two friends and I; friendswhom I regret befriending. We were talking, when gradually, our subject of discussion became my stranger. one of the friends mocked My Stranger and instead of taking a stand or protecting My Stranger likemy love should have done, I laughed. Having been a good friend to the Stranger,the second friend called My Stranger immediately and told Him about my mirthless laughter, my cold agreement. Many times in my Relationship, My Stranger had defended, insulated me, from people andtheir sardonicism; and there I was laughing at him, with a personhardly worth calling a friend.

The Stranger was crestfallen, hurt, been hit a bit too below the belt,broken beyond repair.I was never the victim, he was. He was the one tolerating, baring Scars after scars, a death after death. I had ripped his heart out of his chest and stolen joy from a life tht was once full of it. I, the harbinger of hate, the miser and the villain, had brought him to afinal turn to the road of endings and silence only.