You first came to me hidden in the secret folds of someone else's story. A story that was done and dusted, burned and buried, and ostensibly long forgotten. I had to dig you out of stray signs and sniff you out of the red herrings. The strange dichotomy of not knowing the real you while inadvertently revealing shreds of myself had kept me away from paths leading up to your doorway.

Next, I found you on the canvas that you'd propped against your window. My frequent visits to your place slowly petered down to a grinding halt. Until that fateful day when I decided to pass by again and check on you. The canvas was still there, the brushstrokes on it more frenzied and the colours deeper than ever. This time, they beckoned to me while an undercurrent drew me closer. I reached out and touched the deep reds and bruised blues, and in them, caught a glimpse of your face. Your dark eyes spoke a language that I could finally understand. We spent the entire night talking and you spoke of dusty roads and even dustier dreams, of broken promises and hearts that turned into debris, of a feeble longing for the world untouched and along with it, a glimmer of my soul. What followed was a whirlwind of abandon and restraint, of terror and fantasy, of hushed tones and soulful screams. You scooped me into your arms and whispered, "Let go..." I touched the scars on your cheeks and you let my fingertips dance along the outline of your lips. You were mine to explore and I was yours to deny, and yet we had to abide by an unspoken rule. The nights and hours gave way to years of floating back and forth in a dream that only we could touch and taste, peppered by reality checks that went unheeded.

Now I find that the canvas was just a front, without which you were just a hollow, long-dead tree. The brushstrokes and paints had been stolen from others who fell prey to your deception, and the cloth upon which they hung was fashioned out of the stealth of your barren soul. My calling you out transformed you into an animal cornered, but you lashed out just as unreasonably and unjustly as a human would. You pulled out all stops to break me and grind me to the dust, a dust that you could then use to build another castle of lies. And break I did, piece by piece and fibre by fibre until my flesh no longer bore the scent of my own being. The words that once healed the bruises of the past were now just a reminder of the shallowness of our truth. With every shower of abuse, I swerved toward the edge of the precipice. The hot tears of despair slowly gave way to a cold, hard indifference until I actually began to look forward to reaching the final inch. From here, it's just a sheer drop to freedom.