w r e c k a g e ✓

the wreckage of her pain

❝I told him not to ever date a psycho like her. She's a whore who gets around.❞

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SHE DIDN'T WANT to feel this way anymore. She didn't want to depend on him for her happiness, but last night she was crying over him again, and he didn't call. She thought she told him that when she couldn't sleep she needed to hear his voice. For his voice was the only lullaby that could successfully bring her eyes to a close.

What would be the effect if she told him that she hadn't been able to sleep much since he left?

Did he owe her thousands of calls? ⠀⠀

Three years worth?

It was apparent that she wasn't the same person as she was before she met him. She couldn't remember who she was actually.

He had said that he left because she changed. And she didn't know if it was for the better or for the worst. Everyone around her declared that it had been for the worst. They had all declared that she was too obsessed with boys. That she was too easy. That she wasn't faithful enough. What did they know?

In reality he had been her first love. Her first everything. Yet, he had left her. All because he had listened to them.

She was always the type of girl who agreed with the whole concept of, girls need to stop thinking that they need a boy to be complete. But she needed him. He was an exception. He was it.

Her heart.

Her heart has been nothing but a bleeding lump of holes for years. In those holes are indents of unmet desires absorbing the void where her caring self has been trying to figure out what it wants for years. Secretly she knows what it wants. It wants him. Her heart does, and so does the rest of her collapsing system.

She never really cared for him in the first place.

She did care about him. And maybe she cared too much.

Why is she acting like there aren't other guys out there?

Because he was the only guy out there for her.

She's reading way too deep into this.

Maybe so, but a person can never tell someone how heartbreak should feel unless they've been through it themselves.

She doesn't know what love is.

And you do? Everyones definition of love is immensely different.

She held her chest and hunched over in pain. She was sick. And her heart was too.

They say you can die from a broken heart. And surely they're right because it seems that she's slowly tearing apart.

But maybe it was all an illusion. Maybe none of this is real. Maybe she's just sick in the head.