How You Built Me by Breaking Me

They thought they could hurt you.

How You Built Me by Breaking Me

I like running. Running away to the woods is particularly my favorite. There is something about lying in the grass on a dewy morning and watching the sun rise through the treetops that takes away the pain. I wouldn’t have imagined my life to come down to this truthfully, I was full of life and energy at one point. Funny how that changes when one person decides to leave.

I don’t think he intentionally hurt me, but then again, he knew this would happen. And as much as I hated trying to guilt trip him into staying, part of me had hoped it would work. I was hoping he would see the value he was leaving to rust, the beauty he would watch drain from the color of my skin. The smile that would fade and the frown that would become a permanent curvature on my once radiant face. My eyes begged for him to stay and my arms couldn’t seem to let go, but he pried them off and warned against thinking about him. I wish I would have listened, took his advice and just stopped. Maybe the pain would have halted there, but for some reason I couldn’t. I found myself in a revolving door, with no way to leave the circle, constantly being reminded of the love I was once given.

The attention I longed for could most easily be found in random hookups. Every new guy I added to my list of lovers, gave a satisfying relief to my grieving heart. It never lasted though, and shortly after my bed was once again left to just me, I wallow and think about how dirty I felt. If only he knew, he would surely agree, tossing a slew of nasty describing words my way. Part of me longs for the attention either way, so maybe he should know. He should see what he’s done to me. How often I lay for hours on end staring blankly at my wall, or how often I think of the pills on my nightstand. Imagine the attention I could get from him if he only knew that he caused my ultimate demise. It’s exactly what he wanted anyway. Things weren’t always this way however, with him the sun shined a little brighter, the days were longer, and the nights were sweeter. The aching in my heart was more of an overjoyed feeling and everyday felt like I could conquer the entire universe. The sparkle in his eye when he caught a glimpse of my dress, or even my sweatpants never failed to light up my world. The darkest of moods could be modified by one simple ‘I love you’ from the boy I was confident would be my future.

Before I swore off eating for all of eternity and burning calories was the only thought on my mind, there was a certain spark to my persona. An outgoing girl replaced the one lying lifelessly on the grass in the woods believe it or not. I had a ton of friends. But they felt real, genuine, people I could always count on when something was going wrong or even when everything was going perfectly. We were inseparable, and went on the craziest adventures, latest midnight snack runs, had the wildest nights, and we weren’t shy about it. Our pasts were well known by majority of people, including my soon to be love.

An outgoing girl replaced the one lying lifelessly on the grass in the woods.

Call it fate, call it destiny or maybe you prefer a random run in, that just so happened to lead to something more. What it’s called doesn’t matter anyway, it ran its course and is long over now. But he was perfect. The gathering place of my people just so happened to be the exact location he was meeting his friends for a night out on the tiny town we called home. I had always known of him and his existence, but before tonight it had never really had any significant meaning to my small world. Our night was planned similarly to most of our nights, plenty of bad choices and morning after regrets were sure to ensue as soon as the group had assembled. But something about this night felt, well differently for me at least. I couldn’t stop looking at the stranger across the room from me. I saw him peeking my way too, his brown eyes complimented by his shaggy brown hair that fell perfectly over the arch of his eyebrows. We made a split second of eye contact, giving me just enough courage to speak up. I didn’t have to make the first move however, he must have gotten the same feeling I did while glancing back and forth toward one another.

As I went to leave the now dreaded meeting place, he was quick to toss out a four-word partial sentence that would change the course of my life entirely. I brushed it off and went on with my night, but my mind wondered aimlessly toward the opportunity that I was possibly letting go right before my eyes. Channeling the courage I felt earlier in the night, I picked up my phone and mimicked his sentence back to him, not expecting much of anything to come from it.

The conversation was endless. My mind raced at the thought of this boy becoming someone important to me. There was a smile that was a new sensation to me, reaching from ear to ear, to my heart and back. I couldn’t describe in words what was happening to me, but I felt renewed. Nights became less reckless and more focused on making this person, my person. His past, failures, goals, struggles, and the things others would consider imperfections, became all I could think about day in and day out. I not only wanted him physically, I wanted him emotionally and in his entirety. He was nothing less than perfect and within mere days of endless conversation, I could see why I had been through what I had, I saw why my failures were so important to my past, goals I had never had for myself were being set by someone else who saw a world of potential in my life.

Being with him for the first time was, as cliché as it may be, magical. He was everything I could have ever imagined, maybe even more. A day didn’t go by that I had spent with him upset, or questioning whether I still wanted him. Every day that passed, every waking second of my existence, my vision became clearer, my mind more focused and determined, my smile wider and my eyes shined brighter. There wasn’t a thing I wouldn’t do for this person, my person. The things that seemed so impossible to reach, the goals that I could only pretend were attainable, were now so realistic. With him my life made sense, I had a purpose, a goal to please him and love in a way I never had before. Opening up was made easy and desired. I was loving with my heart, my whole heart for every waking second of my life. Snowfall was beautiful, and glistened, the sound of rain had been given a new meaning. You can only drive with someone through the pouring rain so many times before it becomes a symbol of beauty and peace. But then again, everything started having that symbol.

Snowfall was beautiful, and glistened.

I could only imagine how perfect our futures together would be. How bright the days would become, how freeing the sun would feel when we walked down the sidewalk, hand in hand. Every inch of his body, his mind and soul, was my sanctuary, my safe place. I confided and let my inner light shine through him. He took my light, my spark and ran with it. Encouraged me through the tough times and loved me extra when I needed it. He supported me through the good, the excellent milestones I made in our brief time together. Growing spiritually as a person was so easy when he was around.

If only I knew my light would be stolen from me when he left, I maybe wouldn’t have fallen so hard in the first place. To make so much progress to be knocked down again and left with barely enough life to wake up in the morning, maybe I wouldn’t have fallen in love.

The process of falling in love is one of the best feelings in itself. In case you’ve never felt it, here’s how it goes, or at least in my case. Days are dark and unnecessary. Every breath brings more struggles, more difficulties you have to endure alone. More heartache and pain. But then, someone comes along, and they make those struggles their own, they take your heart and hold it in their hands. Creepy, right? But, it’s far from that, in fact it may be the exact opposite. It’s beautiful, mesmerizing, the true definition of happiness. Your days gain meaning, they start to shine and have a purpose, every breath feels cold, but a good cold. Like walking into an air-conditioned room after being in the scorching sun for hours, refreshing. Goosebumps are no longer there to remind you that you’re scared or stunned, but rather to signify joy and utter pleasure. Smiling becomes painful, and laughing, consistent with simply being in the presence of the person you adore. They become your reason for trying so hard to reach your goals, for getting dressed up for silly dinner dates, or dressing down for a movie night in.

It was picture perfect. His smile was my smile, his laughter was contagious, his desires were my only focus. He became my rock, my best friend, my go to, and my person. I would do anything for him, and that’s exactly what I did. I dedicated my early mornings to waking him up, my late nights to lying with him until he fell asleep. His sicknesses were my heartache, but I wouldn’t have asked for it to be any other way. Our first kiss was shared while play fighting over a pillow, similar to the way little kids argue over, well anything really. My heart was pounding out of my chest and my thoughts were racing in circles. His hands were gentle, and his lips were soft, but aggressive. My face could perfectly be held between his palms and everything in that moment made sense. I could feel him smiling between breaths and his eyes were ever so passionately closed. I would know, considering I kept opening mine to take in his perfectly sculpted face leaning toward my own. I had never seen someone talk with their eyes the way he could with them closed. Everything appeared so effortless and natural.

The passion wasn’t held solely in his kiss. It was his stare, his heartbeat against my chest, his hands running through my hair. His raspy voice in the morning, his weight laying against me, the way his hands felt massaging my body. He was warm, his heat radiated but in a way that one appreciates.

From his kiss, to the way he presented himself, everything was so gentle. Everything appeared calm and collected, he was never nervous, anything less than confident. We shared intimate moments in everything we did. He didn’t shy away from making the first moves, he wasn’t shy about showcasing his love and admiration for me. He swept me off my feet, if you will. But constantly. Nothing I would say or do would steer him in the opposite direction from me. We held onto each other, and embraced one another’s company. It was appreciated, and felt so caring and comforting. Nothing was impossible when he was near. His world became my world, and mine his, and together we had our own safe space, a place we could confide in one another. Late nights spent laughing and talking, long days spent hiking, exploring the universe holding onto our world. Nothing was bigger than our love for each other, nothing couldn’t be done, everything was possible in one way or another.

The way he caressed my body when we made love. Now that, that was something special. Lying next to him, wondering what would happen next. Trying to anticipate his next move made my stomach fill with butterflies and my cheeks flushed with warmth and hues.

Every day was spent with him. Growing, playing, simply loving. The feeling could never be accurately put into words, the way I felt being around him. Life just, flowed. So easily, perfectly, everything made so much more sense. Life felt real, and I, felt alive. More alive than I had really ever felt in the past. Struggles no longer solely belonged to me, my goals and desires were no longer just mine, but his too. We shared a connection that likely only comes around once. No secrets, lies, reasons to be anything but ourselves toward one another. I was an open book and thought he would react the same way, but somethings are better left to the imagination. What is the saying again? Oh, that’s right, curiosity kills the cat.

While I longed to believe everything was perfect, something was, well off to say the least. There remained a pin in my heart, one that I so badly wanted nothing to do with. But this pin, trust, it could be called, had the tendency to remind me, I am still here, and you can’t ignore me. Thanks a lot, pin. I am the cat, and this is how I get killed by curiosity. Possibly the ultimate downfall of a relationship I had hoped and prayed on, one I had fully intended on keeping forever. The more time spent with him, the more I began to wonder what goes on during the times I’m not there. After all, there were times I was working, or away with family or friends. There were times he was at home but desired not to have me come over. Some would say time spent apart is needed, but not the cat. The cat desires every waking moment to be receiving attention and love.

But this pin, it began to turn, causing not only insecurities in myself, but in my faith, relationship, friendships and so much more. My person, who I once believed to tell me everything, love me with his whole heart in return for mine, care for only me, began to become a rather peculiar young man. Time spent alone and without me, increased, leaving my heart begging for an explanation. My eyes cried, but more than just my eyes, my soul. My universe was crashing down around me, but I hadn’t even known why yet. Maybe it was all the pin, forcing me to believe that what we had, wasn’t real or true. My heart wanted to believe in what my mind, and more importantly my gut, wouldn’t allow it to.

The cat, a naturally exploratory creature, was given the opportunity to explore the holy grail of locations in his ever so precious house. His bedroom. Countless nights spent together, sleepless nights may I add, countless disagreements, tears shed, laughter shared, smiles exchanged, were all just the inner layer of a room that had become so near and dear to my heart. I treasured the memories, the genuine moments we shared in that room, the beauty in the colors on the walls, the clothes in the closet, the silk of the sheets. The stained comforter, the pet hair on the floor, the posters hanging all around, all became a sanction, a place I called my own. Standing in the middle of the room could leave someone breathless. Someone who knew him, at least. Every sign, picture, stuffed animal, had a meaning, a story. It was all a part of why he grew to the man he was, it all played such a role in his past, that you have to know him personally to understand and appreciate.

The Silk of the Sheets

Everything appeared so beautiful, organized, so unbothered. Running my fingers over his clothes, his dresser, his bed. The sparks flew, my fingertips grew warm and I once again was comforted by the thought of this person, my person. Why am I even questioning his beautiful morals? That’s right, because cats are curious and instinctive. And this cat’s instincts told her to question, to wonder, and to doubt, that the love this human encompassed for me could possibly be the truth. There had to be something more to this person appearing to give his life to me, hand over his worries and fears all in the hopes it was safe with her. But it was safe, and maybe I didn’t make that clear enough to him. Maybe the time we had spent pouring our souls to each other, wasn’t enough to comfort him. It was me, my fault. I hadn’t given him every inch of me, every flaw, every insecurity. I was holding back trusting a person who had never given me a reason not to. Or was I?

It seems to be so easy to overlook the unhealthy traits of a relationship when you want so badly for this person to be the one. They may be your person today, but the fear that they may not always be your person begins to overlook the flaws that they do genuinely possess. I found his perfect traits, and held them sacred. I found his flaws and from them, formed them into perfection, in fear one day I may lose my person. Failure to recognize flaws as flaws, is just that, failure. A person will always possess traits you cannot change, and you cannot alter. As did he. Everything I saw as perfection, didn’t always deserve to be seen in that light. But how, how could I, someone with so many said flaws and failures, and so much baggage on her shoulders, see imperfections in someone else. It seemed almost counterintuitive.

But this person, my person, had baggage of his own. Messages from mystery numbers, snapchats from ex flings, but to put the icing on the cake, wrappers to condoms we failed to use could be found throughout this place of sanction. The place we shared almost all of our intimacy, was possibly the home to other girls, who maybe thought the same way I was. They too, were thinking they were special. They too, possibly ran their fingers through his clothes, over his dresser, onto the silk sheets of his bed, where they lay waiting for him to swoon them. Whisk them away and sweep them off of their feet. Unknowingly to myself, my world, our world, the universe we built for ourselves, set ourselves as emperors, was nothing more than a platform for self-love, on his part, and not mine.

It must have been easy for him, easy to forget what I had given to him, the experiences we shared. All the time we once devoted to one another was so easy for him to pretend never happened. But these boys, they don’t allow to be wrong. There is a lack of open space in their egos to think they, the hierarchy of all human existence, could have done something wrong. To talk to them about such discoveries would be imminent death.

But I went for the kill anyway. Trying to stay calm, I went forth on my quest to explain to him what I had found. Now, as anticipated, this didn’t compare to the joy of smelling freshly picked flowers, or the pitter patter of rain against a tin roof. Instead the feeling of guilt for looking through my safe place can be more closely compared to the pain of being hit in the head with a tennis ball. Yeah, like that, except I felt it in my heart, my soul, from my feet to my bones, to my shoulders and my mind. It burned. The guilt that this person, my person, had forced upon me was a greater feeling than any of those prior feelings of love. Blaming myself was easy, but believing the lies about what I found was way easier. This is love, after all, isn’t it?

But it wasn’t. That’s not what love is supposed to feel like. Looking back I know that now, but in the moment, I was so blinded to see that I was being manipulated into staying with someone who didn’t know the first thing about what love was.

When he said he didn’t love me the same, I should have ran, but instead I held on longer. Made my presence even more known. Bought him more, loved him more, hugged him longer, kissed him sweeter. Putting the blame on myself was easy, after all, I was acting like a curious cat, and deserved to be killed. I shouldn’t have looked around and I wouldn’t have known anything was out of the ordinary.

Once a cheater, always a cheater. But then again, I didn’t really know he cheated, right? Maybe the story wasn’t a lie, and he really didn’t sleep with another girl, on my safe place, using my pillow, on my side of our bed. I misjudged him, and again, this was my fault. I never should have listened to my instincts. I should have let the thought of him cheating eat away at my mind and soul until it rotted like a pumpkin in January. But I couldn’t, and for that, I apologized. But the messages didn’t stop, the mysteries becoming less of, well mysteries. It became more obvious that this new-found love was his new focus. The attention that was once being given to me, had almost entirely diminished. Breaking up seemed to be the first response, and for him I would do anything, including allowing him to leave me for another girl, all so she could have the satisfaction of knowing this person, my person.

But that didn’t last long. Now at this point, emotional drainage was to be expected. My sleep schedule suffered greatly, my emotional stability dropped to less than zero. This person, my person, had returned from his journey into exploring with others but me. With open arms, I accepted his world to once again mingle with mine and the universe seemed to be at peace with itself. Adventures ensued, tears halted from running down my rosy cheeks, mascara no longer needed to be waterproof. I was invincible, on top of the world again.

At this point, emotional drainage was to be expected.

The feeling of taking someone back after going to war with them and your heart is difficult to explain. I wanted him to have everything I could provide, my love, heart, attention, and everything in between of course. But something holds you back. There is a feeling of ultimate betrayal to yourself in taking back a distant lover. Given the idea of forever still lingered in my mind, I subsided the feeling of betrayal and went full force into loving him once again. He could have whatever it was he wanted, needed, and I would never question his requests. It could be best described as running head on into a brick wall, with weights strapped to your feet, so you can’t move once you’re trapped under the fallen wall. The bricks, well they remain laying across your chest, legs, your stomach, causing an almost intolerable pain, but constantly. A pain that doesn’t seem to go away after you’ve recovered from a brick wall breaking your bones into a million pieces. A brick wall doesn’t care about where your heart is, and doesn’t put in the effort or time to fall solely around it. The wall won’t avoid falling on your heart, similar to the approach this person, my person, took to reentering the universe we built for ourselves. The one I was unfortunate enough to keep living in.

When an old spark gets relit, you tend to forget about why it went out in the first place. What was it again? Oh of course, cheating. The thought always lingered but I tried to ignore it. This cat, well, she was on the last of her nine lives and had no intention of getting killed for the final time. So the thought of what could have happened while our worlds were just ours, subsided. I ignored all of the instincts leading me to believe I was not alone in our merged universe, and went on every day. Showing him the up most respect, care, love, honesty, and anything else that one would accredit to a perfect relationship. Something felt stronger, like I could finally bench the 45-pound bar I had nearly always struggled with, like moving the heavy boxes he would be taking with him to college, would be no issue. The flame was strong. Our flame, was strong. Perfect.

Describing perfection is such a daunting task. It’s like, waking up on Christmas as a kid and running down the stairs to see gifts piled high under the lit Christmas tree. It’s like the first bite of a fresh cupcake, or the first sip of water after running a mile or three. The smell of the orchard in fall, or the sound of a knife cutting through a freshly gutted pumpkin. Perfection is like working 40 hours in the week just to sleep in on a Saturday morning, to the aroma of coffee and pancakes being made in the kitchen. Rolling over in the morning to see the love of your life staring at you, smiling because he can’t seem to take his eyes off of your smudged makeup and messy hair. The way your eyes are crusted shut on the sides or dried drool curves the naturally colored lips you wore to bed. He values the imperfections, and helps you clean up your appearance to begin your relaxed Saturday, spent with the family who came to visit on your birthday.

But perfect things end. The gifts piled under the tree become toys thrown in a box in the attic. The cupcakes get stale and the water warm. Fall turns into winter, and you find yourself sliding all over the road, dodging the ditch by centimeters each time. Work resumes on Monday, and breakfast is extinct, and you find yourself lucky to even get enough time to eat a string cheese for lunch. Your lover is long gone to work by the time you wake up and you struggle to see, because your eyes are completely crusted shut. The flame goes out, and this time, it might not get relit.

But giving up seems to not be an option. Leaning into his shoulder to cry became natural. Chasing him around the kitchen and living room was a daily routine, and his laughter, became your haven. A life cold, alone, seems nearly impossible to pursue. So you don’t. You hold onto the good, the exciting aspects of him, and completely ignore any of the traits that make you question whether or not you want to be with him. And in your world, everything appears as it should. The sun still shines bright, you can still feel your smile spread widely across your face. But people notice the things you don’t. They notice the way your hair is no longer getting done every day, your once beautifully polished nails remain untouched, the smile seems forced. You become distant and go out on the weekends less and less. Your energy appears drained and it’s easier to stay in than try to maintain friendships and connections with those who were once so close to you. Friends, and even friends of friends notice the distance increasing between you and them. They notice the way you fall to your knees to take care of him. They hear about the arguments, and they watch as you empty bottle after bottle trying to forget about him. Countless nights are now spent on the bathroom floor, often blacking out before making it to my own, lonely, stone cold bed.

They watch as you empty bottle after bottle.

Mornings are spent listening to stories of what you did the night before, followed by pictures and videos that you can’t seem to remember. I for one, became a natural born party girl. As he left me and came back, time after time, he forgot to take note of my dulling eyes. My once outgoing personality faded, and a darkness followed me around wherever I went.

He quit answering. Stopped replying to texts, phone calls. And suddenly, I was sitting in my bed face to face with a monster, that I no longer recognized. That I blamed myself for creating. His gaze was caring, but it was too late. He was empathetic, loving, and gentle. Qualities I hadn’t seen from him for weeks. This person, my person, was interested in what I was saying. He held me, and even cried with me. Tears streaming down our faces as we said our goodbyes. Goodbyes that didn’t make any sense. Here we were, standing in the center of my room, holding one another in a way I had only remembered happening a couple other times. The boy who had become a stranger to me, was renewed in my arms. I felt his breath on my neck, his heart beat fast against my chest.

I can’t breathe. I’m pulling at his shirt, using the shoulders to wipe my tears. It’s hard to find the words I was so desperately trying to use to get him to stay. He just pulled me closer and suddenly, this person, my person, became a complete stranger. The walls collapsed. The light broke and fell from the ceiling, glass scattering around where we stood. My window shattered, leaving the cold, icy wind from the winter outside pour into the room. His hands were warm though, holding onto me, protecting me from the universe falling apart from around me. In that moment, he knew what he had done. My hair fell flat, my eyes turned grey and emotionless, my body quivering and becoming freezing cold, mimicking the snow drifting in through the now gaping hole in the last remaining wall. We stood there, frozen in time, looking into one another’s eyes. Nothing remained. The world around me was gone, and I could see only grey.

Wiping the tears from his pink cheeks reminded me of what we once had, when our world’s first united and I saw a shine in his eye. Perhaps of relief, perhaps of sadness. His breathes became more constant, while I couldn’t catch mine. I watched as this stranger walked over the debris toward where the door once stood. In his pocket he carried a piece of me, perhaps the most important piece. The part that kept you alive, besides the brain of course, but the part that I had worn on my sleeve for so long. I could feel the hole in my chest. It too, was cold, and felt oddly empty. Where once a heart laid peacefully, nothing more than a hole remained. It ached, and I wanted it back. He had stolen something from me, and I wanted it back. But instead of chasing after the stranger, my body sank to the side of the bed. The bed I wanted nothing to do with anymore. A bed that also shared so much of our intimacy, our secrets, our passions, and our love. Hearing his heartbeat, his whispers, moans, and his voice come from the bed left a heavy feeling in the hole in my chest. It was getting increasingly cold in my room, you know, with the walls gone and such. So I patched the window shut with pride. I rebuilt the walls with strength and dignity. You see, that night he took my heart. And left far more damage than what was surrounding me when he first arrived. But now, to keep myself warm, I had to work for myself, I had to rebuild what he had broken. It was never his to take, but this stranger did, and he stole all of the parts of me that weren’t for sale.

The walls collapsed.

He left me vulnerable, scared and fed me to the wolves. A life in which I didn’t think for myself, learn for myself, have my own opinions. I had conformed to him in every way. My world that I had built up prior to knowing this stranger hadn’t compared to the world he and I shared. But now I was left with my own world again. My own thought process, my own goals and dreams and aspirations. The glass that had once been scattered around me on the floor reformed the light. A hue, although gloomy, returned to the room and a warmth took over the freezing cold.

The stranger remained just that, a stranger. Someone I once shared the universe with was now someone I didn’t even acknowledge having known. The hole in my chest remained open and unavailable to bystanders who asked what had happened. They saw the walls tumble that day, they saw the light shatter and window break. Watching as this stranger ripped my chest open and stole my heart from within. So why now? Why suddenly ask what had happened after witnessing it for yourself? I believe it’s called pity. They pitied the murky world I was living in and saw the clouds float low to the ground, drenching me with rain everywhere I went.

But they loved the stranger. They adored him. Became friends with him needless to say. And I, well I remained in the dust. Completely alone, with no one to care for or about me. For hours at a time I could be found sitting, staring blankly at my wall, cutting off communications with the slew of family members visiting my room daily. I presume they were looking for something. Slowly waiting for the walls to be fully returned to normal height, meeting the ceiling at a perfect, linear corner. Waiting for the window to shut the last two inches that it wouldn’t, waiting for the hole in my chest to appear smaller. And with each visit to my room, nothing changed. It wouldn’t I suppose, now would it? Because it was missing. My heart hadn’t been returned to my body, my mind and soul still lost in the frigid wind gusts that came in through the broken window that dreaded afternoon. You know, the one when the stranger stole my heart in the first place?

To this day the ceiling doesn’t quite reach the walls, the window doesn’t shut those last two inches. Because he still has my heart, and whether or not it will be returned, well one can only hope. Unfortunately, the stranger stealing my heart was just the beginning step to a staircase of horrors. Not only did he take a vital organ, he took a will to live, a desire to better myself and make my world just as perfect and imaginative as our world we shared was. He took the very breathe that keeps a body alive, stealing a fight from my soul that was only unleashed when I had met his gaze that first night, in our now dreaded meeting place.

I like running. Running releases toxins and an energy that can only be channeled three of the seven days in a week. The woods are a haven when you’re someone like me. Someone who has seen both the fiery lights of hell and the shining gold-plated gates of heaven, in someone else’s eyes. Someone who has felt the gentle but aggressive kiss of another human being. The way his palms fit perfectly around my face, the way he traced the skeleton of my back, the arch of my lips, his hands running over my hips and going through my hair.

Songs that once held the happiest memories turned to songs I can’t fathom to hear. Foods, we spent hours perfecting no longer get made. Places we once spent all of our time together at, are places I no longer stray toward. All because a stranger stole a piece of me that was never for sale. Because a stranger dulled my shining skies, and turned the clouds to grey. Where sun once shone, rain replaces. The mind and soul I had come to love, the soul that sparked at the mere thought of you, the mind whose thoughts were organized and perfected, was replaced with chaos and havoc.

The universe we shared and created in the likes of one another, is now solely mine, and I run with the freedom to choose and say what I please. The curvature of my mouth reaches to the sky and the heavens, the color in my skin has re-brightened and my eyes shine a bright blue hue. And for that, I will not apologize to you. Stranger.

breakups
Donna Sczygelski
Donna Sczygelski
Read next: 'Chocolate Kisses'
Donna Sczygelski

I am a creative writer whose specialty seems to be falling in (then falling out, but much harder) of love

See all posts by Donna Sczygelski