The blame. On you.

It’s your fault, all yours. You made me fall and then left me to deal with the pain. You made me feel safe and now I’m all alone to face my insecurities. You showed me how everything could be so easy and it’s suddenly so heavy to get through a simple day. You made me see the joy in unexpected times and places and now I can’t find it anymore anywhere I know it used to be. You said “for us it’s never been easy” and laughed about it; now I’m the one left of that ‘us’ and I don’t see anything amusing in it still not being easy. It must be your fault that I felt innocent, with you, playful, curious, and now I think I was just stupid, childish, nosy. You made me like the music that used to heal your broken heart; now there is no way in hell Linkin Park can help me. I loved that perfume that reminds me of you; now I cannot stand the very thought of it. Because of you I started not closing the blinds for the night and slept like a child no matter what; now I can’t find rest even in the pitch black dark. Nothing could harm me because you were my protective layer of soft and fluffy dreams, now nothing can harm me because I’m too numb to feel it.
How on Earth could it not be your fault?
If not you, then who is to blame because I let you too close and now it hurts so much? Whose fault is that I believed what you never said and was willing to give you all you never asked for? Whose mistake was that I let you tear down the walls I built around myself and now I’m vulnerable? Whose fault is that I only wanted to take care of you and got hit badly myself? Who is to blame for the idea of opening a restaurant with you that I loved so much; who is to blame because I can barely think about eating these days? Who is responsible that the picture in my head, of the father of my future children, helping them with the maths homework, looks so much like you? Whose fault is that snow, that used to make me feel the grace and love from above now is nothing more than another painful reminder that I cannot send you pictures of the snow angel I made in the backyard? And what am I going to do with all that whipped cream I stored for your coffee only?