no silence is more deadly than the games we play

the letter lies on the desk

"I hope you know I threw away all of your gifts. Threw them away, or donated them. I hope you know they meant nothing to me. I hope it hurts you, still."

no cruelty is more silent than death

the hand moves the pen

"They were gifts. Once I gave them to you, they were yours to do with as you pleased. Do you mean to imply that you could damage me by destroying your own belongings? As if they were a part of me, as much as they were a part of you?
"That is incredibly weak-minded. Not to mention how terribly egocentric and downright childish it is."

a reaction is imagined
a reparation is written

"Hehe, no. I'm lying through my teeth. And I'm taking unnecessary shots at you. Of course it hurt, sweetheart. I am ultra-competitive. Helplessly proud and hopelessly ultra-competitive. I think that might be why I have such contempt for the weak--because I see weakness in myself. I see it in all of us.
"Weakness is a part of human nature. A large, common, and recurring (if not universal) part of us. Part of our dichotomies and our hypocrises and our manifesting contradictions. We are truly our own worst enemies, and it is so easy to make enemies of one another because truly we are all connected in existence to the same membrane of life. For better and for worse.

"And don't we reserve a special kind of contempt for those who remind us of ourselves? It is the sick side of empathy."

no game is more cruel than silence

after a while
the note is crumbled
tossed into a corner

no death is more of a game than our cruelty

words are spoken unto empty walls:

"There is no greater weapon than patience."

July, 2020