I remember it, it was a warm Tuesday evening and we were stumbling to the bus stop that stood on the side of the busy town centre street, she was being herself, telling me how terrible I am and how she hates every inch of me, then she leaned in to kiss me; this would happen nearly every day but that warm Tuesday evening, something clicked; I took the anger I had felt for so long and painted it on her body with bruises shades of purple, yellows and blues; she left me the next day for a pretty boy she had met a few days earlier; we were never going to work; she was crazy and I was crazy for her; that 'love' did not bring me joy and hope, it brought me suicidal thoughts and hard liquor; I still remember it, the day I broke into a million tiny little pieces; I still find myself searching for those pieces and it kills me every time I realise I can never get them back; but I am trying to re-build myself with the little pieces I managed to cling on to in the shock of the fall