Rotting Under the Skin
I can still picture that unpeeled banana sitting on the counter, looking just fine from a distance, but I knew better. I knew what lay beneath that yellow skin — softened flesh turning brown, sweetness soured with time. It’s not as tasty anymore, but you wouldn’t know that just by looking at it. You’d only know if you took the time to peel it back, to see how it’s slowly rotting from the inside out.
I’m like that banana. You see, I’ve carried this pain for so long, kept it hidden under a layer of something that looks normal, something that looks like it’s still okay. But underneath, it’s all turning dark. It started with the neglect, with the way you turned away when I needed you the most, and now it’s grown into something I can’t control — something that eats away at me, just like the rot beneath that peel.
I used to think that maybe, with time, I could heal, that I could somehow ripen into something better, something whole. But the truth is, some things can’t be undone. The damage has been done, and now all I have left is this growing hatred, this festering wound that only deepens with each passing day.
It’s not just about the pain anymore. It’s about the anger, the resentment that grows with each memory, each moment I realize you weren’t there for me. It’s about the way you left me to rot, thinking I’d be fine on my own, that I’d somehow heal without your care.
But I didn’t heal. I just rotted. And now, I’m left with this bitterness, this feeling that I’ll never be whole again. You might look at me and think I’m fine, but inside, I’m just as bruised and spoiled as that banana, my sweetness long gone, replaced by something far darker.
And the worst part? You never even noticed. You never peeled back the skin to see the rot you left behind. Maybe you never will. But just like that banana, I’ll sit here, waiting, slowly decaying, until one day, there’s nothing left but the shell of what could have been.
Maybe then, you’ll finally see what you let happen. But by then, it’ll be far too late.
