Pain. Betrayal. These things I have in spades; I lost one friend last year over a woman I loved and now I've lost her, who never loved me at all.
Alone. Hollow.
That I've been here before is nothing new, but that realization doesn't lessen the sting of betrayal. Doesn't lessen the pain and agony of seeing that which I've denied for over a year; doesn't hide the knife slammed into my chest, cleaving into me.. but I see the hand that twists that dagger now, I know whose hand guides it, and I see the smile on their face as they twist the knife ever more, the smile I've denied for a year. They do not know me as well as they think they do; they will not like what is coming.
Turnabout is fair play, but how do you hurt that which does not feel?
Alone. Hollow.
That I've been here before is nothing new, but that realization doesn't lessen the sting of betrayal. Doesn't lessen the pain and agony of seeing that which I've denied for over a year; doesn't hide the knife slammed into my chest, cleaving into me.. but I see the hand that twists that dagger now, I know whose hand guides it, and I see the smile on their face as they twist the knife ever more, the smile I've denied for a year. They do not know me as well as they think they do; they will not like what is coming.
Turnabout is fair play, but how do you hurt that which does not feel?