Passing of Time

In the beginning, three years old.

It had been impetuous.

Acting without care,

Quick and thoughtless.

Three years passed,

She became benevolent.

She always meant well,

Always being kind,

As kind as she allowed herself to be.

Five years more,

It turned deleterious.

She hurt him.

She hurt their families.

But most of all,

She hurt herself.

Harming herself,

Causing damage everywhere she went,

To everything she touched.

Two more years,

All he feels is empathy.

He knows that feeling.

He gets her pain.

He understands now, why she did it.

Because now,

He’s doing it too.

Three years yet,

Here they are again, sixteen years old.

They accept their past,

They’re still alive.

Jubilation, great jubilation.

Whether she saved him,

Or he saved her,

Or maybe they saved each other,

One cannot be sure.

But she is his,

And he is hers.

Together forever.

At least that’s what she thought.

One more year,

Almost seventeen,

His actions became insidious.

He gradually got worse.

It was subtle,

Until it became so glaringly obvious.

By then it was too late.

One day until she turned seventeen,

She had been so naive.

By the time she noticed his treachery,

It was too late to save them.

She blames herself for their deaths,

How could she have been so gullible?

It’s been three years now,

She still carries a sense of culpability.

She knows it wasn’t her fault,

But she can’t seem to shake the feelings,

The feelings of guilt that overwhelm her,

In the dark of night,

Typically on the anniversary,

Often on their birthdays.

It pains her,

But she is moving on with her life.

She’s let go,

But she will always hold the guilt,

In her heart,

Because she knows deep down inside,

That she still holds some form of love,

In her heart,

For this monster.