I had always existed in shattered glass pieces stitched together with crimson lips, dangerous thoughts, and wondering how someone could ever dare to love something so empty, so flawed. I saw absolutely nothing in myself but the skeleton of a girl who poured out every meaningful emotion that dwelled inside of her into a boy with captivating eyes that she hopelessly plummeted into. He morphed into the blood that threatened to flow through my veins and he was absolutely everything, every molecule that lurked within me, everything in the universe that I adored. He showed me the whole wide world through his own eyes, and he taught me how to love strawberry milkshakes and the glorious sound of rain dancing against the roof. He filed in the empty pieces of me that had been lost so long ago, and sculpted me into someone identical to himself. But an abundance of summer days and sleepless nights only created a temporary bliss in me, and soon the rain and the emptiness numbed me once more. He left faster than a passing rainstorm in July, and on a Saturday night after mascara had stained the sleeves of my favorite sweater, and after the broken glass inside of me had stung and carved into my skin, I threw away every lonely tube of crimson lipstick, shut the window, and forgot how to gaze through other people’s eyes.