Since you took me to the ocean before,
Maybe this is one metaphor you might get.

Your words were like broken pieces of seashells.
They left cuts all over me.
And you are salt water,
You kept coming back,
To burn my wounds,
One tide after another,
One wave after another.
Periodic, unstoppable, predictable.
Like a natural phenomenon,
You can't seem to stop once you've started.
You had to make sure,
You've done enough destruction,
Before you would leave.

I can, however, walk away from the beach.
I can even leave the seashells behind.
I don't need them anyway.

I used to love oceans.
A little more before it started to hurt me.