Dear Nine Years,
At what point did you think you were going to win this?
Where do you get off deciding this was how it’s going to be for me?
You saw me.
You know the things I’m capable of:
I am fearless in front of them. I make them change their ways.
I make them listen. I sway them.
I smile so they would, too.
I am strong for them. I chuckle. I dance.
I tolerate and endure. For them. Always for them.
Because I have so much to give.
You, on the other hand, had the PRIVILEGE of seeing me raw. I made you see my vulnerable self- the side of me I never dared show anyone else.
Emphasis is supplied on PRIVILEGE.
Because that’s what it was.
You did not have that as a right.
But, you see, you were so much better than me back then:
You made me believe you feared losing me. You made me change my ways.
You made me listen to your lies. You swayed me.
You smiled and I thought I could, too.
You appeared to be strong. You chuckled and dismissed my concerns. You danced around them.
You tolerated and endured. But not for me. Never for me.
You never gave.
You were so caught up with yourself that you started to forget:
I had already gone through hell before. Countless times before.
I always came out the victor. Every single time.
We both know you can’t say the same for yourself.
Not when the mere thought of blood makes your skin crawl.
Not when mediocrity is your whole sense of security.
So now I’ll give you a piece of my mind.
I hope you understand this simple fact:
Your totality will never compare to mine.
Not a chance. Not by a long shot.
Nine years. That’s all you’ll ever be–the farthest you’ll ever go.