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You’re a girl, and you’re dating a boy. You cheat on him, you push him out of bed, you slap him in the face, etc. and in return, you notice he starts acting different that night. He pronounces his R’s like W’s, he colors on an app you’ve never seen him play, his voice is as high pitched as he can arrange it to be, and he uses quotes from his ex and his intended in-laws in conversation when it doesn’t even make sense. He copes, in absurdity and idiosyncratic amusement, by doing his best impression of his first girlfriend, the one he calls “The Sword”. You fall asleep thereafter. Then, like a phantom, he escapes in the night, and listens to the old songs, and drives in the old way, down the kingsroad, and you never see him again. For only the one that came before you, all of you, offered him up the peace, and the comfort, and the love, to truly rest. You asked about her, once and never again, after noticing his enthusiasm and nostalgia, as if it were 50 years ago. And your decision to betray him brought upon your worst enemy. And this confusion you experienced and verbalized is what it means to have the curse of the blade.
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