glad she didn't

the word scared is covered in cobwebs,
an old forgotten series of lines put together—left alone in that corner that i haven't visited for a long time.

honestly, I do not remember if I know its exact face.

but it was there, that afternoon, while you were pulling a knife out of your gut. while you were showing me your still healing part. it was there, waving at me so annoyingly, and since there it never left.

but there was this word— "relief" — that has been worn out for the many times it was taken for granted. it was just sitting, while i melt and was taken aback by the fact that someone—you— was unguarded in front of me. It was moving its feet, like a kid, just there... while I was feeling and grasping the fact that I have you in my life.

no sighs can represent relief at that very moment. it is selfish of me to be glad that she did not treat you like porcelain, that she broke a part of you in the process. it is selfish of me to be grateful that you bled. but I would be selfish again and again. and id still thank her for doing the best thing—not keeping you.