fragments of a shattered heart

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"Do you even understand what you're saying?" His voice cracked as he yelled, the words shattering in the silence like broken glass. The sound echoed off the cold, empty walls—walls that had once held warmth but now felt like a tomb.

"You don’t! You don’t know what love is. You don’t know anything about it. You’ve never even had it." His body went rigid, as if the weight of his own words crushed him.

A flicker of regret flashed across his face, but it was quickly buried under the sharp, piercing glare he aimed at me. His voice, once familiar, was now a stranger—cold and distant, a void where warmth used to be.

"But you... you wanted it so badly, didn’t you? You ached for it." He paused, and in that pause, the silence screamed louder than his words.

"You tried to give it... You gave it..." His voice broke again. "To me."

I realized then—I hadn’t been breathing. My chest felt tight, like I was drowning in the weight of his words. I wanted to cry. I didn’t know what my face looked like, and I didn’t want to know.

"You said, 'I love you,' 'I love you,' over and over, like a spell you could cast to fix everything. But it was all bullshit!"

I’m sorry.

"When I was falling apart, you looked away. When I needed you more than ever, you disappeared like I didn’t matter. Like I wasn’t worth saving."

I’m sorry.

"And yet, when other people were watching, you pretended like you cared. You act like you loved me."

I’m sorry.

"Love isn’t something you show—it’s something you feel." His words hung in the air like poison, sinking deep into my skin.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Then, with a final look that felt like a knife in my chest, he turned and slammed the door behind him.

It hurt. Everything hurt.