You wanted to tell her how much she meant to you, but you waited too late. You waited until she didn’t mean as much. You waited until her faults flooded your brain and drowned your good intentions. You put off the compliments and the accolades and the heartfelt expressions of admiration and appreciation and, ultimately, the pronouncement of love. You delayed so long those flattering phrases no longer applied, leaving only invective and insult in their wake. You erased the gratitude, replacing it with condemnation. You supplanted esteem with contempt.
You had the chance to bestow upon her a gift that might have lasted a lifetime. Instead, you left her with a scar she may not even know she has, one that will never heal; a scab that forever will be picked and left to bleed.
But she could have quelled this tide of malice. She could have told you the truth about where she was when you were to be together. She could have explained why something or someone else was more important than you. Though it might have hurt, it would not have dissolved your trust in her. It would not have erased all those emotions, those soft protections in which you wrapped her, just waiting until your lives could safely intertwine.
Yet it’s done now. It’s over. The pain has become dried clay, its delicacy surpassed only by the fragility of your heart.