Some days the trail of carnage that marks my path is overwhelming, surprising. It's almost as if I am not the girl that left them there. It takes on a cartoonish representation in this unlikely satire. If I could describe it in words it may be rather dark, depressing, and a little too enlightening for the feint of heart. You might know everything about me, but I'm almost determined to never ever show you this.
Memory is a funny thing. The more you want to change something, the easier that memory is to change. It warps faster than normal memory when you wish more than anything that it would have been different, that you would have made another choice. So maybe you wake up two weeks, two years, two decades later, and you remember it exactly as it should have gone. You were the hero (the heroine) of the world. You didn't break his heart, you saved it from shattering. You didn't lie to him, you saved him from a much deadlier truth. And you bury those real memories under bullshit until they do not even seem to exist anymore. Seem. To. Exist. Key words.
The bodies are piling up faster than you ever imagined was possible. You walk into a room and all hearts are on you suddenly. They are all begging for your attention, for your expertise. It's almost amazing how quickly they have begun to fall. for her. for you. but mostly for me. This is the girl that they fall in love with. The girl that puts all of her shit out into the world and just is. The girl that isn't afraid to be broken, or confused, or undecided. They fall for the version of me that needs fixing, but doesn't ever expect to be fixed. Because like all men, they love to fix broken things, to put things back together, to reassemble without instructions. The problem is that as much as they are addicted to fixing me, i'm addicted to shattering. I have perfected the art of shattering into a thousand misguided and ill-intended pieces.
I say that I believe life is about the pursuit of love, and most days I mean that. I believe that we are put on this earth to find that one other soul that will make us whole again, that there is a perfect match in this world for each and every one of us. I am the most disgusting romantic that you will ever meet, but I am also deep down in my core a realist. I got my love. And it is because of this love that I learned the ultimate thrill.
Some people bungee jump, others skydive, but not this girl. This girl slays her victims of love with the double bladed sword of vengeance. Taking back a piece of herself that she never intended to give away before it's too late. Because it was too late once... maybe even twice... and she never ever wants to feel that pain again. She is fine with shattering, she knows the pain is only temporary because she causes it now, but back then it was him that broke her. He threw her against that wall and like a sheet of glass she scattered across the floor of that apartment. She left something there that she may never find again. And as she looks back at the wreckage, at the toll of hearts on her conscience, she wonders if maybe she did not create the same kind of monsters along the way.
