but they'll stay there, of their own accord and of your own willingness, just because.

pillars, pedistals, they're all dangerous places to put someone on. especially when you've got an aversion to seeing them hurt.

watching them fall, seeing them bruised, watching them walk away with a limp isn't worth it, sometimes. isn't worth the guilt of knowing you're the cause.

so you wish, instead, quietly, or ragingly late at night, that they'll leave of their own will.

that they'll step down when your back is turned and when you turn around, they're a football field away, growing smaller.

no hurt, no pain, no holding up a mirror to them and showing them all the faults you've begun to find with them.

they've done that to you, already. you know the deepness of your own fissures better than anyone else can show you, but it surprises you, still, that they would try.

that they would reach in a crack to where the softest spot lies and pinch. all fingernails.

so why turn around and do it to them?

there's nothing to gain. nothing lasting. nothing where, thirty years from now, looking back on this moment you won't feel guilt.

the cleanest cut is the one that cauterizes as it goes.

you leave any bit open, any breach, guilt or anger or regret, and it infects the whole.