This is a letter to remind you of your past, lest you forget. Of the treasure you trampled, my kindness the cost. You almost won, but almost is such a wonderful word, ain’t it? Because almost is not complete, almost means you won battles, and I won the war. You thought yourself so clever, I’m sure it felt like a drug – powerful and invincible. But fake things don’t last as long as you wish them to and so you lost. To time, to strength, to love – all that I am and all that you are not. I think of the elaborate lies you spun, the trust I gave you in full, like a child to an older one. But that’s something you never were, another lie, that’s all it was. You tried to make me guilty, clutched my hand and dipped it in blood. But my wrists hold your marks, proof I’m not guilty, I was lost. I don’t feel hurt, I burn. With rage, with fury, with vengeance and whatnot. You thought you broke me. You thought you destroyed what was, shattered it beyond repair, took away everything that mattered. Funny, there was a world you never even saw. So, you can live your delusion of safety, think to yourself ‘no harm no foul’, I’m gone. But the ground forgets not the blood it swallowed, nor fate the fury of a woman dethroned. So, tie up your curtains, trim down the garden, sign your puny wills and paint your happy stills. And when revenge comes knocking, with dues long forgotten, wish for a quick end or better yet, find one instead. For what from me was stolen, was your only protection.