Spotless house, laundry folded, dinner cooked − I ran through the checklist. I wanted to give you a peaceful life if I was soon going to be a wife. I would imagine how one day I’d attach your name to mine and stretch my body for little faces as perfect as their father’s.

We’d been doing this for years. My other half, so tightly coupled, yet still growing. Teenage dreams of happily-ever-after turned into twenty-something ecstasy. I was the mascot for all your erratic endeavors, because we vowed “for eternity” to have each other.

Undoubtedly, I’d be the first to jump to my feet or go halves on everything. Soon, I evolved into the go-to when resources were bare − but still so grateful for the man you once were. There was nothing I wouldn’t do to demonstrate my adoration was true.

Young love, I had forgiven you, but as soon as I did, it was always something new. While healing from my last set of wounds, I’d appear confident for you. Through infidelity, mismanaged priorities, fresh aspirations, unemployment, and my neglected tears − I’d proudly give my life for yours.

Only to realize that was what I was already doing. You see, I had forgotten myself, and when you expressively left, I never felt so dead. Each betrayal reached toward my wholesome soul.

It dug deeper, and then unreasonably deep.

Each time, I found myself apologizing for how I’d cope with the damages. Your glittery trinkets were of green intentions and you failed to notice. I’d fight on, pondering, “How can I further prove what he means to me?” The actions you took clearly measured me undeserving. You were granted compassion after error, and opted to make a mockery of my loyalty. The man who once stood ten feet tall forgot that I was beautiful.

It filled me with pain to the brim − as you coldly watched me overflow. My passion was too much; my colors were too bright − so you snuffed out my light. I struggled against those I love to defend all the things you’d certainly not do.

If you had an ounce of decency you’d return the devotion I’d given you. But this industry never plays fair. Humbled by NYC, you absconded craving to appear as king. Drunk off stolen kisses, you’d return home to me − always promising a side or ornamental woman “never meant anything.”

The joy I once felt in becoming an educated woman was reduced by my fidelity. You seemed to wish I was silently drenched in easy-going stupidity. I searched for my overlooked respect, but the mountains I moved were shamelessly rewarded with neglect. I found myself choking on everything I swore I’d at no time do − before you ever got to.

My emotions were ripped open − I clawed back for what dignity withstood, heartbroken. Incessant lies created bloodshot eyes; yes, perhaps a decade of honor was sacrificed for a coward. Because the salted taste of blood smacked of regret. I could barely breathe when facing my bruised flesh. The moment I picked myself up from the hardwood floor, everything that was ours became yours.

 

About The Author

Bianca Alysse is a creatively driven Bronx-born writer and editor. Before becoming The Knockturnal‘s music editor she served as Latina‘s creative coordinator and was a contributor at Billboard. The Boricua scribe has a lengthy resume in the music industry and has penned for Universal Music Publishing Group, Epic Records, G.O.O.D. Music, Compound Entertainment, Artistry & Récords, and Arcade Creative Group. Her work has been seen on platforms like VIBE, mitú, TIDAL, Remezcla, and behind the scenes at New York Fashion Week. As an independent contractor, she has written for Sony Music Entertainment’s global business affairs department, Warner Music Group, and currently Roc Nation.

13 Responses

  10. Magali Gonzalez

    I really am amazed with your honesty. I pray that you continue to use your voice in a positive way, With no regrets, only the knowledge and awareness to move forward with your new and future relationships. Love and be by you first. Tata

    Reply

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