Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού
I pray to accept reality,
to accept that I was never special,
that I was never a woman impossible to replace.
While I turned my skin into scars,
my throat into cries, my eyes into a sea,
I lived under the illusion
that you were only pretending
not to care,
when the truth was
simpler
than all my excuses: YOU DIDN’T.
It was easier to blame the circumstances
than to accept that you simply
didn’t care enough.
Since then, the same fear has haunted me:
that one morning you will wake up,
open your eyes beside me,
and realize that I am not everything
you ever wanted, that there will always
be something missing.
Maybe someone older,
maybe thinner,
maybe with longer hair,
maybe with darker eyes.
Every time you enter me,
I remember that you once entered
through other doors as well, and ever since,
I have compared them to my own.
The line between love and sin
was never clear, only faint.
You devoted yourself to placing blame.
Your finger was always pointed at everyone
except yourself.
I felt the disrespect,
and then came the betrayal,
the lies, the mockery, and the way
you insulted my intelligence.
I no longer search for hidden meanings.
I no longer invent excuses.
I no longer try to repair the truth.
Everything is exactly as it seems.
