June, you humble me yet again.

We have some twisted karma, you and I, bound by that which we love and have loved; fated never to see eye-to-eye.

You have presumed to know my fantasies, bleeding them into your own. Drowning me into a bottled image you keep on your shelf, eyeballing it, wanting in your anguished moments to shatter it upon the floor and watch it flop about desperately like dying fish.

I have tried to see the tempered good-nature of your being; to witness your immense value in the eyes of your lover. I have overheard your eloquent prayers and quivered at their tenderness.

Yet we have un-met to challenge each other. To demand the ugliness of the other, to behead and display it like sacrificial flesh; trophies of the war between us. There is no peace treaty it seems, no place for our compromise. We will continue to sting the dark and the light from each other, June, even though we hold the same things sacred.

Even though our love is jaggedly intertwined.

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tagged as: proseJunelove letters to sworn enemies

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