My rambling guarantees to you love

Last night, I romped the streets with the word "independence" tattooed onto the arch of my right foot. As I padded along clumsily on my stilts, I felt the jets of ink stab into my skin, mocking their own irony. As the Irish piano man warbled in my ear I removed the stilts and allowed my bloody foundations to rest upon the marble and I reclined. Spread out above me like godly vomit, the smattering of satellites and stars and angels. Their consistency was interrupted by the branches of trees and the glare of smoldering street lamps. The couple seated behind me giggled behind hands as they shared secret glances, I tried my best not to look.
All the while I felt the word burning on my foot and my thoughts turned to you. You are the irony of this situation. In being apart from you I am more dependent than ever before. But in a new light. I depend upon you not as a caretaker, that can no longer be. But as something to care for. It's been ages since I cast my eyes upon your live face, but I can picture your stare vividly in my mind; frenzied, confused, scared, angry. I know love that right now you do not know who or what you are. And I know that whoever this creature is that inhabits your form does not want me. But I've seen inside your soul before and I know what's tucked away in all the nooks, crannies, and tight places. But you cast your nooks, crannies, and tight places in shadows and somehow along the way they had slipped from my mind. But in your absence I remember them now. I remember that you are only a man. You are only a human.
Being wiser than I, you always seemed to remember this about me. And for that I can't thank you enough. You always took care of me, a personality quality I took for granted. Now that I'm alone I don't long for a care taker, at least in this separation I have come to realize that I can take care of myself. And by take care of myself I include the element of being mentally sound, of putting down the blade.
I fumbled my way in the dark with my needles, pins, and razors. You're fumbling with your smoke and your sex. We all have our coping mechanisms and while it breaks my heart, I understand. I don't apologize for snarling because I had the right to snarl. Part of how you ended me was cruel, but some of it was deserved.
You say that you are happy. Happier than you were. That I believe. I know that you are happier now than you were in those fleeting last moments with me. The ones scarred by jealousy and hatred and rash decisions. But are you happier than you were when I was sane? I know the answer.
I want you to be that happy again. You will be that happy with me, I'm ready to take care of you. I relied on you for so long that it wore you down. It's my turn now. It's my turn to take care of you. You don't know who you are right now. But I know who you are. I know.
When it comes down to her. She. It. That girl. I don't resent her. I'm jealous as hell of her because it's her lips that touched yours tonight, but I don't blame her. Who wouldn't want you. I don't know her, but from what I can see, she's beautiful. From her dark long hair and sparkly eyes, to her gliding curves. I'm sure she fits well in your palms. But I guarantee you she can't love you like I can. Maybe you feel the same rumbles in your gut that you felt with me, but I guarantee you she doesn't feel what I feel. What I felt. I guarantee you she doesn't look at your face and see everything she wants to be. I guarantee you she doesn't look at your face and see her entire life looking back at her. I fucking guarantee it.
And I guarantee she will never love you like I do.
And I guarantee she has never felt the level of regret I feel that I ever pushed you away.
I guarantee it.