Knife

I hate to admit things like this, but I needed you to be my friend, even if we weren't lovers. It cut me terribly when you pushed me away. Maybe I should have expected it. Maybe I should have just moved on instead of being so attached to you. Either way, I'm so very glad that petty differences have been set aside and we're both treating each other warmly again.

You've always been my knife. You were the first person that I bonded with over a shared adoration of what knives can do to skin. You were beautiful, and reliable, but prone to occasionally nicking those nearby.

You were the first to really cut me down harshly. I used your words, still echoing in my head, to constantly stab at myself and bring about that pain that makes you want to never bring tears to anyone's eyes ever again.

Still, there are two people on the planet that can effortlessly cut through all of my defenses and have whatever effect on me they wish. I am completely at their mercy, regardless of whether I fight it or not. You're one of them, and despite having used me as a punching bag plenty of times in the past, you treated me kindly tonight. And that kindness sliced right through me and filled this silly, sentimental fool with a kind of happiness that he's largely unfamiliar with.

I (perhaps naively) expect this kindness to continue on permanently, and it feels as if a long-festering war wound has finally closed up.

Now, if only...