by Belinda Roddie
I'm looking past it all. All the times you said you'd be there. All the times you said you'd make an effort. All times you accepted my forgiveness for your trespasses. But the holy water wasn't enough, was it? It was too warm. The humidity attacked Christ's purity, and it gave your fingers the shade of a demon's tongue every time.
You weren't there where the sun hit the stained glass windows just right. You said nothing when I needed a diatribe. And you walled yourself off the moment I asked for you to topple every brick that was mounted in our way.
Convenient, isn't it? How you build your defenses just in time for any minor assault?
Yet I'm looking past it all. I'm looking past all the repeated offenses. All the moments you reminded me that I was your one and only. All the lapses of judgment, leading to emptied highballs and smashed tables. Your breath smelling like a cross between asphalt and lime.
My mother wants me to leave you behind. My father thinks I'm insane. You're pretty pitiful, all things considered. A sad puppy who isn't even that cute to begin with.
But you've never laid a hand on me. Never said a bad word to me. Never made me feel unsafe and unloved.
You're just...not there much. You're pretty absent. I wish I could say it's made me grown fonder of you.
But I've had to look past that, too.
This week's prompt was inspired by a lyric from Deflator Mouse's "Bright Eyes," which you can find here.