He was the only thing I ever really thought about. In a mind of monotone, he was in color. He probably didnt realize I could feel his eyes on me while I wasn't paying attention. I realized long ago that he wasn't the same. When I talked to him, it felt like home. And when I didnt, it was like a part of me was gone. It was painful to go without him, even a day. I couldnt bear the thought of losing him. I wondered if he ever knew what he had done to me. All these months later, I wonder if he noticed the way I walked slower, I moved heavier, I was like a doll dragged on the ground by a little girl not paying attention. I still wonder if he caught sight of the bags under my eyes, or the heaviness of my breaths, and I doubt he did, but I still hoped. I wondered if he knew how broken I was, and I wondered if he knew he was the one who broke me.
The very thought of being away from him was like driving a knife through the center of my chest. I couldnt bare it. Not even a little.
And I depended on him so heavily, that when he was away or I couldnt talk to him, the sadness would take over. I'd cry myself to sleep, I'd scream and say a prayer in my head that I could talk to him soon.
I was broken by the one thing that made me the happiest. And didnt even realize it.
