Wrong

I am right, and you are wrong.

I accuse you of treating me wrongfully. You defend yourself and accuse me instead. The anger boils underneath the skin. The love is buried underneath the stubbornness. The stubbornness of the defeated. The stubbornness of the bearer of victory. It all seems blurred – who is right, and who is wrong?

I am right, and you are wrong. I don’t know anymore. I am just tired, so tired. I want to be in a black cave, far away from you and your accusations. Far away from my own thoughts. It does not even hurt, or does it? I don’t know anymore.

I am right, and you are wrong. I have to prove you wrong, you have to see I am right! Why can’t you understand? I don’t want to fight. Hug me and hold me, and tell me it will be ok. I want to hug you, and hold you. Tell you it will be ok. But will it?

I am right and you are right. We are both wrong. Swallow your pride, here, I can help you with a glass of water. I can swallow mine. You are right, maybe I am wrong. This is right, but it feels wrong. I don’t know anymore. I cannot feel it, even if I try. It hurts, but it doesn’t.

You hug me, and hold me. Tell me it will be ok.

But you are not here. I am wrong.

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