Apology.

The truth is, I despised apologies.

They were pions to win back what was destroyed, but never an expression of grief, nor promises not to repeat mistakes.

I grew to despise apologies.
As I was giving them away, my benefit of doubts were taken for granted.
And as I've lost my sense of forgiveness, so did my grip of self.

I grew to despise apologies.
They exist mostly for personal gain.
When something within me cracked, apologies weren't deployed to soothe my pain, but to soothe the others out of their own guilt.
I was gaslighted into thinking I had to earn them, while my forgiveness was a free token I must trade for every apology given.

I grew to despise apologies.
They were bitter pills that didn't heal, 

Coated my thoughts with poison; apologies accepted, trust denied - and I had been tired of guarding my trust.
I was exhausted, I felt mean and miserable; I felt like a monster.

The truth is, I grew to despise apologies and I buried this truth so deep I forgot where I placed it.

Words flew like firing cannons, heavy, with a hazy aftermath.
Raised voices, raised hell. 

Familiar voices, familiar fears.
One strike -  my fortress crumbled.
Two strikes - I realised I was vulnerable without my fortress; my hatred and anger towards apology.
The irony; in my own rage, my anger swallowed me whole.

My grief is coated with anger - an old friend I pretended I've lost long ago.
I was vulnerable, weak; I feared everything, but mostly myself.
Just like my fortress, I too crumbled.
Buried deep beneath my anger, suffocated by tears.

-

You know the aftermath of a breakdown, when you hear nothing but buzzing noises, your own racing heartbeats and the feeling of headache creeping in the corner?
I heard something else.

You utter your apologies, but they feel foreign - and I realised I've never heard how your apologies sound like.

I did not know the sound of your remorse.
You utter your apologies and I realised I wasn't the only one feeling weak and vulnerable; you utter them all while stripping your weapons down; ego and rage.

There I was, questioning your motives. 

There you were, still learning how to soothe me.
There I was, refusing to give you my forgiveness. 

There you were, trying to understand my reaction.
You drown me in your apologies and I was confused - for they no longer taste the poison I was seeing them as.

Words flew again, but it was no longer firing cannons - no weapons; no ego, no pride.
Gently, you wrap your skin onto mine, wrap my thoughts around your words, and for the second time, my tears suffocated me.
Your skin touches mine and my fear started to dissolve, the debris of what had been my fortress doesn't scare me anymore.

The ironies are;
In my vulnerability, you give me the strength to face a truth I've been running from.
In your vulnerability, you're the strongest, and yet, the most gentle, who has ever taken down my walls.

And the best irony of it all; 

in my vulnerability I feel empowered, 

in the weakest state of being, you made me feel incredibly loved.

Now you're looking at me - as broken, as accomplished, as raging, as calm, as a partner, as someone to take care of, as a trophy, as a weapon, as whole.

Everything has never been easy, but I've grown so much, and you've grown so much, and I learn a lot about myself through learning more about you, and I wish nothing less than that.
I wouldn't have you any other way.
I wouldn't have us any other way.

So this is my heart, please take me, my vulnerability, and keep it close to your heart as I would to yours.
All yours.
All ways, always.