Breaking Point
Tasha Harris © 2005

Cry, oh God, Cry. Damn it. Just do it, break, I'm tired of pushing you
tonight, just allow those silvery drops to fall. I feel the frustration
building at your resistance and I hate the urge I have to strike - you've
done nothing other than what you do any other night.

I don't want to touch you when I'm like this - cry and leave. Cry and leave.
Another few words exchanged and then that shocked look comes over your face
as you realize just how far I'll go to hurt you. Pain and then anger. I know
you fucking hate me like this, hate that I settle behind words instead of
action, but baby its for you.

And for me.

I don't think I'd let you have an out tonight and so its words, cold,
effective that I use as my weapon. I told you to stay away. I told you to
stay away.

And you cry and leave.

When the door shuts, I sit there, feeling like I've taken my first breath -
yet still having it hang in my throat. I'm choking for the briefest of
moments until that cold calm settles in to erase my...everything. I hear
walking away and I walk to the window, watching you from that huge window
into our world. My palm finds a place to settle on the glass.

I can see the tears on your face. My head keeps repeating.Leave, leave,
leave.

You never do. When the front door opens you run in, and bury your face
against my chest. Oh god, don't seek comfort from me. I can't handle it. I
won't be able to handle it. I have nothing to give you.

But my arms wrap around you and the words I rarely utter come out of my
mouth.

I'm sorry, pet.

Its your tears that erase the cold this time, coming in sobbing hiccups
against my chest.

I kiss you.

But I realize there will be a time when you will leave, and something inside of me prepares for the blow.