"...She was a slow poison."
Today is her birthday, another anniversary of sorts. One year ago today, somewhere around this time of evening, she accused me of a horrendous crime. She said I didn't love her. I had forgotten her birthday. Or so she believed. If anyone had asked me, when is ----'s birthday? I would have spouted off the date without hesitation. I wish someone had. That day, I hadn't forgotten about her birthday. I simply woke up not realizing it was that day. Like those days when we awake not realizing it's Christmas morning. I went the whole day going about my business, thinking her birthday was in a couple more days. It never donned on me, and mentally, I never connected the days. Time had escaped me. But like I said, if anyone had asked. I knew the date. She didn't, or wouldn't, understand. She accused me of not loving her. Not caring an ounce for her. To this day, I love her. Since her past birthday, I made some very shocking discoveries about her character. Not her past, like you'd expect from an angsty drama, but about her in the present. I finally discovered who she was. It hurt. I still love her. She, to me, was like the sister I never had. She was my confidant, my friend, my anchor a lot of times. Looking back, I see she was also taking the things I had confided and gossiped to others, she invaded my privacy against my clear wishes, and she was a weight holding me down. She was not bad 100% of the time. We had plenty of good times. But that's how it works. You're given just enough good for you to believe it, for you to take it, and drink it in. She was a slow poison. I can't help but feel I want to tell her, "I didn't forget. I still love you." She'd never believe it anyway.
