Last Morning

A monologue.

It was our last morning together. You were cruel. You made me feel like a quitter because I'd finally thrown in the towel. And maybe I was - maybe I am. But there were so many lines you had crossed, so many desires you didn't fulfill, so many times I needed you and you weren't there. So what if I loved you? So what? It wasn't enough for you. And it was no longer enough for me. Its like, its like I stood on the edge of a building and you kept egging me on, telling me to jump and pushing my legs and for years so many years I was able to resist you, stand strong and stay on that ledge waiting for you to talk me down. And then finally, I decided to jump. I said my goodbyes and took the leap, but you grabbed me and pulled me back on the roof at the last second, then yelled at me for being weak and not sticking it out. You yelled at me because after seconds and minutes and days and years of hearing you scream jump, I actually listened. And how could I do that to you? Now that you learned how to whisper. Now that you were willing to talk me down off the ledge. How could I do that to you?

How could I do that to you?