I am broken by the weight of disappointment—I will not embrace, even if all the rules of language were to unite.
As if life took pleasure in my shattering through loss and wished to grind me with despair. The truth is, I made a home for people who did not deserve it. In the end, I recoiled from my scalding disappointment in denial, but its heat dried me of all feelings that once rallied in my heart.
I sought refuge in solitude, and all that stems from me—what frames my lips and my sharp eyes like blades—they are the same blades of my bitterness. All of them are weapons to protect myself from potential disappointment.
And if complaint stirs in my whispers, it will never reach ears. Even if its edges sharpen from suppression, they will wound me, perhaps even tear me apart. Yet I persist in resistance.
It's either me or me.
And as I gargled the bitterness of my resentment, he appeared to me like a knight on a white horse. But I see him as a malignant tumor I wish to excise—he sprouted in my life without permission and severed all paths to my salvation. No, he erected the guillotine and pushed my neck toward it.
Just because his eyes are sharp like villains' and his clothes are flashy, does he think he can control the tides of calamity in my life? Who does he think he is?
Just a nameless castrate.
—
Who allowed you to interfere in my affairs and claim to save me? I never asked for help. Did you not think that nobodies like me can do nothing against the fangs of mankind? There is nothing behind me but the abyss.
His eyelids twitched in shock, then he stepped forward, crossing her personal space, and placed his palm on her head.
—Behind you stands a hero.