The Fishermen's Scheme

Comfort was when I was with you. But I learnt that this word, comfort, can easily be confused. Restricted, confined, unloved. Your comfort made me feel as though I was alive, well, and happy. But was I? Was I reliant on you? Were you the only thread that kept me from untangling? Would you stay by my side, even when I have completely unravelled myself to you?

No, you wouldn't. Because to you, comfort was just your way of deceit. I knew what you wanted wasn't my love, and maybe one day, something in me will click. Maybe someday, I can figure you out.

The pain of you leaving seethes and recedes, like a greeting from an ocean. I never knew this pain, and I wish I never did. It bottles inside me and replays in stop motion. Your tides keep pulling me in, and my willpower isn't strong enough to swim away. The corals I have built to protect me break apart, leaving the remains scattered around me. Now, I am defenceless.

Your lies flowing in my ears, the salty taste of your deception. Your trickery. And such a fool I was because I allowed your silver, vigorous, near unbreakable net, sweep me away.

And for all I know, you never let me go.

My thoughts are still attached to you, and my feelings too. Because every bit of me comes with a part of you.

So maybe you did give me comfort. Maybe in the presence of comfort, you showed me deception. Maybe to me, deception is comfort, because that's all I've ever known.