A Fallen Idol

You are an Idiotic, lustful, cowardly degenerate who lives and breathes to receive a sliver of praise from your equally imbecilic flock of fools. A man so desperately deprived of substance that he must adorn himself with the admiration of others to convince himself he possesses any worth at all. Your existence is an unfortunate testament to the extraordinary lengths a man will go to disguise the emptiness within himself.

Your crooked grin sends a painful shiver down my spine, for I am reminded that such a beast of a man once held something so precious, so delicate, and so undeserving of his possession. You stole a piece of my pure, divine soul and swallowed it whole, leaving behind nothing but the bitter remnant of a love I once considered sacred.

How peculiar it is that the very face I once found comfort in now inspires such profound repulsion. Your voice, once soft and soothing as it whispered my name, has become an unbearable disturbance to my ears. I find myself questioning how something once so familiar could become so grotesquely foreign. Perhaps it was never your voice that comforted me, but rather the delusion I had so foolishly constructed around it.

Neither the beauty of Aphrodite nor the courage of Ares could redeem a character so profoundly corrupted. No divine intervention, no earthly possession and no admiration from your pathetic entourage could conceal the moral bankruptcy that festers beneath your carefully constructed exterior. You adorn yourself with shiny materials and intoxicating oud, attempting to disguise a character so impoverished that even the finest luxuries cannot compensate for its deficiencies. Yet no fragrance, however expensive, can mask the sinful stench of a rotten soul.

Your lies reverberate through the corridors of my mind, each one another reminder of the person I foolishly allowed myself to love. I once mistook your words for promises, your affection for devotion and your attention for something resembling genuine love. How humiliating it is to recognise that I had placed such extraordinary faith in someone so undeserving of it.

Your eyes bleed with greed, your breath expels undeserving pride, your feet remain shackled by sloth, your fists are clenched with wrath, your ears echo envy, your stomach overflows with gluttony and your entire soul ruptures with lust. You are not merely acquainted with the seven deadly sins; you appear to have made a home within each of them. A walking embodiment of moral decay, so consumed by your own appetites that you have seemingly forgotten the existence of anything beyond yourself.

And yet, perhaps the greatest tragedy is not the man you have become, but the man I once believed you to be.

I am your treasure, your trophy, the only good you have ever accomplished in the entirety of the seventeen years you have unfortunately roamed this earth. I offered you a tenderness you had seemingly never encountered, a devotion you were too ignorant to appreciate and an affection you were too selfish to reciprocate. I filled your empty heart with love and affection, satisfied your never-ending needs with pleasure, and yet your insatiable appetite for gratification remained. My love was never enough, not because it was insufficient, but because you were incapable of recognising its value.

I wonder whether you will ever understand the magnitude of what you discarded. Whether, in the midst of your endless pursuit of validation, you will ever pause long enough to recognise that something genuine once stood before you. Perhaps you will remember me in fragments: a familiar expression, an old conversation, the sound of a name you once whispered with affection. Perhaps you will remember the warmth I offered you when the world seemed cold, or the patience I exercised when you gave me every reason to withdraw it.

But I will not spend my existence waiting for your revelation.

You are no longer an idol deserving of admiration, nor a wound deserving of constant attention. You are simply a lesson in the consequences of placing something sacred into unworthy hands.

And I, who once considered you my greatest affection, now consider you my greatest disillusionment.

May you spend the remainder of your days searching for the very devotion you so carelessly discarded, only to discover that admiration is plentiful, affection is obtainable, but a love as genuine as the one you were given is considerably harder to find.

For all your vanity, all your possessions, all your carefully rehearsed charm and all the admiration you so desperately seek, there remains one thing you will never possess again:

The version of me that loved you.