It's the feeling I was sure I would never have. I didn't realize until a day after the end what it felt like to breathe again. I was like an addict, so afraid of the withdrawl that I never even tried. I thought that I wouldn't know how to own my self without you my beloved crutch. But you were a crutch. I didn't need you to walk. There's nothing wrong with my feet. You abused the author in me. You let me write fiction of the worst kind -- you fed me lines right out of your hand. But you weren't in the ending. I am not going to write for you anymore. I'm closing the book, and the lack of the ending will be its ending. There will be closure in not knowing. I don't want to know. I want to know a life after this. I want to know a life seperate from this. I want to know life without you. I know life without you. I am not allowing you to keep me chained up. Tied down. Caged. If you want to live at the bottom then do it. But I will not go with you. Not this time.
Not this time.
Let go of my hand. Shrink away into your darkness. Take your filth. Take your lies. Take your weakness.
I am stronger. I will not be sacrficed for your lack of courage.
Not another word for you.
This is the end of you.
