Wings Won't Stop Beating

All I want is to make you sorry. I want you to regret it, to regret this. I want to be everything you want to be, but more; better, more successful and everything unattainable by you. Revenge is such a strong motivation. Who knew?

One day I'll be sitting at the top of the mountain, seeing all the little people down below. I'll look down its steep sides, the ones I had to climb all on my own, and I'll flex my hands, so the scars upon them stretch and remind me that I am where I am because I put in the effort. I'll see you somewhere down the bottom, struggling, because really, you couldn't do it. We both knew you wouldn't be able to get out of your little security bubble; you were too afraid of getting hurt, of losing it all. Well here's the thing: you can't gain anything if you aren't prepared to risk everything. And when I'm at the top, and you're still scrambling down the bottom I'll yell down to you "these wings wouldn't stop working for anybody." You'll look up, and you'll hate me and I won't even mind, because I got there because you wanted to be there and because you broke me. If you hadn't, I wouldn't have bothered. I suppose I'll have to give you a thank you along the way, but don't expect me to throw you a line, not unless you're really sorry first.

So stay out of my way. You know I'm going to be better at it anyway.