That day was awful
Writing was my passion, it was my escape
Because I could write anything about everything in this universe and it felt like freedom and adrenaline were partnering together and cascading through my veins like a sugar rush
But then it went away
The day that the rose tinted glasses were ripped away from my doll face
And the truth was in front of me all along
I was face to face with an image so devastating to me it changed my perspective on love
Because I didn’t believe in it anymore after that day
The image
Of my best friend. The one I saw as a sister. The one that I sheltered and cared for since the day I started to call her a friend.
Kissing the man I love
Do you remember that poem I wrote?
The man I love
The poem that I stayed up hours for every night for weeks
Perfecting it because in my clueless and infatuated little mind, that was what he deserved
The look of shock on her face when she turned to see me standing at the doorway
Tears running down my face as if they were racing to see which one could get to my jawline the fastest
My mascara that I bought at the drugstore since I saved up money for weeks to get her the best one at the Macy’s counter so she could be happy
Stained my porcelain skin
I stumbled down the hallway, hearing the cries behind me
“Forgive me! Please! You’re my best friend! I’m begging you!”
I kept walking
After that, I stopped writing.