Attack From The Past

He comes to me, acting as if he a well stranger who happened to know a friend. He comes to me, innocently smiling as if he doesn’t know anything. He comes to me, and I slowly open my door.

I thought I was going to say that he meant well and I thought I was going to say that it was a strange conversation but it ended okay. I guess I was wrong.

He attacked.

Saying I was trash.
Saying I was beneath everyone else.
Saying I was useless and a waste of air.
Saying I should crawl back into a hole and stay there.
Saying I was a fake fooling everyone.
Saying I was stupid and dumb.
Saying I was trash.

He attacked.

I thought I was going to be hurt by his words and try to explain myself. I thought I would hate him for not trying to understand my position. I was wrong once again.

Because when he came to me, I tried to remember where he stands. Because when he came to me, I tried to remind myself what happened in his eyes. Because when he came to me, I was the one who chose to open the door.

I thought everything was going to be okay, and it is. I can’t change what happened in the past. I can’t change how other perceive the events that had occurred. I can’t. No one can.

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