The Central Story
René Magritte, 1927.
You somehow always had the solution to my maze.
Sometimes I wonder if you kept tabs in my head as you effortlessly completed my sentences and evaded my thoughts. The words that naturally flowed out of your mouth and the gestures that you’ve done were the correct sequences to my combination lock.
You seemed to notice every trigger and reaction as you twisted and tugged my heartstrings.
I didn’t mind.
For the first time, it seemed like someone wanted to crack me open. I’ve been considered that open book a bored passerby inspected for a quick minute then felt weary about one too many time. It’s not that I’m hard to read – I swear, I just needed a bit more patience and a bit more reassurance.
I relinquished every speck of my control to you. Perhaps it was a bit foolish. It took a little longer than I’d like to admit to sweep and piece together the broken pieces of my heart and soul back since that last time.
There were some miniature missing parts. No, not even you could see the gaps. The pieces were microscopic, and darling, I’d hate for you to see that broken part of me.
You’ve driven me beyond control and provoked an unknown monstrosity that was within me. I thought I managed to tame it, but perhaps I wasn’t great at it. You began to walk away.
So I started sweeping up the shards once again.