amertume

Love has always been a topic of strife in my household, and so it plays the antagonist in my story as well. My mother has this aggravating habit of answering for me, as if she can use my life as her own do-over, if she only tries hard enough to squash my voice. But maybe I am being too harsh. “She doesn’t need love. Men only want one thing. They’ll only use you. She has more important things she’s focusing on. You don’t even know what love is.”

Have I ever loved? Trick question. My thought process grows faster than weeds, tossing seeds to the wind and planting new questions with infinite answers. Multiplying. I get caught up in theory until I’m ignoring the problem at hand and instead pondering what all this ‘love’ they speak of really is anyway.

I don’t care to think of myself, my thoughts prefer to wander somewhere nebulous and untethered instead. Distanced from myself, a Birds Eye view to judge from without having to take my subjective heart into .

A brief detour: “amertume” means bitterness, “amer” means bitter. “Amour” translates to love and “aimer” means to love.

You cannot deny the resemblance. Am I not the only girl then, to find hate hiding behind her heart? To find that roses rot and affection festers? Love is said to be humble and yet mine has always carried a certain selfishness, no matter where it finds its victim.

I was not loved in return- hurt stung my cheeks- and all that was left was that selfish shame. And fury. Finally having won the upper hand, finally having forced love to the ground screaming and twisted its hands behind its back. If love is peace, then I feel safer alone with my mind kept sharp.

#Day11Advent