Shakespeare Takes: Strange Fruit
by Taylor Dressler

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    I never thought I’d have to make this choice—
   Who would? I thought I had found my person. The one who had seen me at my worst, loved me throughout it all, and been part of my highest. The one I could go from having deep talks with to rolling on the ground laughing in seconds. And most importantly, I thought I found the person I could completely be myself with and accept me for who I was. The one who felt like home. I thought our futures would be intertwined forever, sure, going through hardships, but always finding our way back to each other. Finding a relationship so sweet and fulfilling that it was like a crisp, delicious apple on a brisk Autumn day. I thought I loved apples . . . 
   Maybe I am just overthinking it, only thinking of the negatives—
   But then why did something shift? Why did we go from talking every day to never talking at all? Endless conversation turned to silence in an instant, with no explanation why. Whether on purpose or not, Iago knew where to strike. What would go unnoticed, still keep me attached, and hurt the most. My secrets became ammunition. My weaknesses became target points. My insecurities became liabilities and objects of scorn. And my love kept me tethered. Eventually, it felt like that was my only lifeline.  A tree of apples in a famine, perhaps.
   Maybe I can change; if I put in enough effort, then we will be fine—
   Perhaps that is true, but when I made an effort to fix things, was it reciprocated? When I spent those days crying and broken over all of the bitter words they said, did I feel any better? When I tried to find faults of mine and fix them, did it do anything? And most importantly, did I lose myself trying to fix someone else? Maybe if I do this, they’ll love me, or maybe if I change myself to be more like them, they will accept me. Or did they already have their mind up? Like everything I did had no impact on them whatsoever. I may think I need that apple to survive, but can I really survive if it is hurting me just as much? If, bit by bit, it is poisoning me? 
   Why, after everything, do I need to choose to leave, though—
   Who would want to? Many times, you do not know if an apple is poison until you bite into it. Until the damage is already done. But for a while, maybe I had the best memories I could have ever hoped for.  Maybe they really did love me at some point. But that is also why it hurts so much to leave. But think about it this way: what would I rather do? Be hungry and broken for a little while longer, and find something much more fulfilling, or stay and continue to feed off the poison until there is none left. Or worse—until I lose myself completely. . . . 
   It will hurt for a while. I know. But I promise it will get better soon. Even if I did make mistakes—I’ll never know. And I just have to live with that. And if I didn’t, I’ll have to live with that too. And the pain—it gets better. The words will not be erased, but eventually I will forget. But in a way, the memories were worth it. They may not be a bad person; they are just on a journey that does not work with mine. But regardless, I need to choose to stop eating the apple, whether it is poisonous or it is perfectly fine, and I am just allergic. I need to stop hurting myself to try to save the relationship and keep from leaving. Sometimes you need to just let it go, let it fall. 
   And that is exactly what I did.