There is no worse pain than these tears trying to break through, forcing their escape. Feeling my life break into a thousand pieces, and not telling a soul. It’s absurd to feel this way, but I can’t stop. Dying on the inside, crying and hoping and wishing and knowing that none of my wishes will come true. He’s gone and he’s not coming back. I’m alone, all alone. He’s not there, holding me through the night, kissing my forehead, making me feel like I’m worth something. He’s gone. And I’m gone. Nothing left but an old shell, fragile and ready to shatter at the slightest touch. But they’ll never know. To them, I’m whole. I’m free, happy, joyous. I’m ok. But I know better. I know what I really am. Weak, broken, alone. So horribly alone. With these tears forcing themselves out, burning my throat, burning my eyes, wracking my body and making me ache and making me wish it would all just go away and knowing that it won’t. It will be here every waking moment. In every tortured dream. It’s real. It’s my life. I can’t escape. I won’t escape. I need someone to take me and hold me and make me believe that it will all be okay. Because I know it won’t. I know I won’t. Pouring these jumbled words out. Not making any sense, but needing to get this out, needing to let it out, no matter how scrambled. Sobbing to sad songs and staring at a wall and wanting nothing more than for him to come back, but knowing he never will.
He held me and kissed my forehead and told me that he loved me. He said that I was his, and he was mine. Told me that he’d never hurt me. That he’d never let anyone ever hurt me again, the way they did in the past. I was a fool to believe him. But I never thought he’d be the one to hurt me more than anyone else. I guess that’s what we get for opening our hearts up, for letting people in. For breaking down the barriers, for giving our most fragile pieces to someone else, and trusting them enough not to break them. That’s what we get for believing that love can happen to all of us. Because maybe, for some of us, love just won’t happen. We’re too broken, too shattered, too scattered, too hopeless, too unbelievably ****** up. Maybe love just isn’t meant to heal us. Maybe we’re too broken to be healed. And love is meant to pass us by.