Mountains and Molehills

　
You said I’m making a mountain out of a molehill.
But I made you a mountain when you really were a molehill. A tree of mere shrubbery. A weed amongst the roses.
And I know these words are harsh but I’m working with a prosthetic heart.
Venomous blood pumping through my veins
Numb. Impervious. Relentlessly unrelenting.
Basically I’m giving you exactly what you’ve given me over the years.
This is not vindication.
It’s just how I feel.
I don’t.
Feel.
Anything.
Anymore.
And yes, I have changed. But I’m still Nina. Cold as ice, hard as nails, no nonsense, no bullshit Nina.
This is the monster you created.
You broke me down to hurriedly put me together again. And now, like an old jigsaw puzzle, the pieces don’t fit like they used to.
We don’t fit like we used to.
That buttery shit that lovers do, we don’t do. Instead we give it to “others” and do.
I carried the weight for our demise.
Thought my shit was ruining what we had.
But how can I sabotage a mirage.
Should’ve never let you get that close to me.
I. gave. You. All of me. The very best of me.
Made. You. My. Life when I wasn’t even your wife.
While you gave me pieces of you in parts.
One word sentences. No word answers.
Everything was a mystery.
Consistent inconsistency
And I only seem to matter when it no longer mattered.
When I pushed myself through wait. Forced myself passed go.
No longer stifled by your absence or lonely in your presence.
Overreacting? I’m not reacting.
Anymore.