"i honestly thought it was going to last," she said, "but it was two o'clock in the morning and i knew that he had had enough. i knew that my mental illness and the way i constantly tore myself apart pissed him off and i tried so hard to better myself; i swear to god i did. But no matter how many counselors i went through or how many hours i sat in front of that mirror trying to convince myself that i was beautiful and nothing was wrong with me; i knew it would never be enough. i knew that i could never get to the place where he wanted me to be. and slowly the things he thought he loved about me became the things he hated about me, and i watched him start to drift, and i tried to pull him back to me but every tug in my direction became a shove in the opposite. and suddenly the string holding us together was pulled too tight and snapped, and i watched him leave and forget that i was ever a part of his life."
YOU ARE READING
permanently unfinished.
Puisiwe write our feelings on paper because we have no one to turn to when our vision is blurred by tears and our chests are crushed with sadness.
