I'm sorry,
The first time was confusing, heartbreaking. Filled with cigarette ashes and seemingly empty bottles that were really filled with pain. It seems her pain was transparent, for if it wasn't then surely someone would save her. But then he came back, flickers of hope entered her body, filling her face with color once more. The second time was aggravating. Why does he play with me like this? Surely there's something more amusing than breaking my heart over and over again. Break hers, not mine. But then he came back, and her brittle and cold facade rose up quickly. Her mind turned into a beautiful rose, her heart not wavering from her love. The third time was unsurprising. She no longer cried, but she still felt the pain. Her rose had wilted. Even still, she stayed.
but I'm so afraid of being alone.
