Have you ever read a story written from the point of view of the bad guy? Why the bad guy became the bad guy? A story solely dedicating its existence to the villain where the antagonist becomes the protagonist. Heartbreakers were made targets to late night poetry and criminals of tear slamming short stories since the inception of love.
Have you ever wondered why a heartbreaker’s voice is muffled and a make pretend game of his kindness being non-existent is repeatedly played in voicemails and group chats and screenshots and letters? Let’s begin at the beginning. These heartbreakers come in a box of forbidden metaphors carefully wrapped in caution tape. Wasn’t it your fault to have ignored the sirens in your head that willingly played on their arrival.
Here’s where the ‘victimization’ begins.
“Her care came dipped in honey.” you would say: to make yourself the better one of the two, to stand apart in the circle of decency with the halo of innocence around your head. I see the pain in your eyes; its real. I was told not to mock a pain I haven’t had to endure. The biggest of thieves are caught through a “honey trap”.
Do you think it was any different to rattle the cages of your heart without breaking in? Any different to affect you without touching you? You should’ve known this wasn’t a game. This back and forth to the heartbreakers isn’t entertainment.
It’s convenience. A personal comfort.
Selfishness to you.
Self-priority to us.
Indifference to you.
Insignificance to us.
Pain to you.
And yes, pain to us too.
You see, because it not easy being the bad guy. There have to be daily shots of self-indulgence to drown out all the guilt. Finding that convenience doesn’t come easy. Giving words to reason isn’t easy. You see, we are aware. Fully aware of the number of nights that sleep has forsaken you, scribbles on crumpled sheets of paper, listening to any piece of music that reminds you of us. We’re aware when you wish on a star for us. We’re aware of the carnage we cause in that little heart of yours.
As artificial, cliché and pitiful as this sounds, we are as helpless as you.
We lose just as much sleep.
We too, suffer.
The universe never forgives a heartbreaker and we know we are doomed.
But there’s a familiarity in the catastrophe we cause; one like no other.
We sin in the name of fear. Fear of getting our own heart broken. Fear of letting you do it first.
So we leave you stranded, on an island in the ocean of our insecurities. We are aware we are leaving you broken and beat with only pain as a parting gift. We take full responsibility for it. We understand your suffering more than our very own.
The stench of guilt on our treacherous fabrics cannot be washed off in holy rivers or unholy endeavours but have to be borne till time chooses to scrub it clean.
You might ask what helps us sleep at night.
Well, it’s the satisfaction that at least our heart is safe. We build billabongs from your tears and use it for our protection; there’s no helping that.
Our departure leaves you havocked.
We know we’d pay someday and
Here’s the brutal truth: We hope it’d be tomorrow.
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