No Difference

It's always the same dream.
Always.
The slender, pale girl stands there, almost asking, begging for her death. Sometimes, it is short, brutal and bloody. Other times, the methods are more elaborate, long-drawn but no less brutal. She's dead, though, by the end of the dream. She's always dead by the end of the dream. I don't feel any better when she's dead. I feel the same unease before and after she's dead. It's as if her existence made no difference.

I never asked for her to be in my life. She's unnecessary and her love is unrequited. There is no need for her to blazon her values and feelings everywhere, while not uttering a single word. The girl is obscene in her silence. It sickens me – sickens me to the bone. However, I cannot complain, as I have no right to do so. I fell for her soundless spell, her unspoken promises. She promised me grandeur - a champion, that's what they would call me, according to her. I believed her.  I believed every word of it, until I was forced to face reality. Her promised grandeur was all a hallucination - her promise of me being a champion was nothing more than a delusion. That was when I snapped. Snapped into two, then into four, until it was only splinters that remained. Only fragments of what I was before I met her still existed. I wanted her to feel the same pain as I had been for the last few days, months, years – time was of no consequence anymore. A blind rage would consume me until I was sanguine that not even a whisper of life lingered in her.

She was dead and I was alive. No one around us noticed the difference. I seemed the same to everyone and I was expected to be so.

It's as if her existence made no difference.