There was absolutely nothing more she could say. The die is cast. He did not need her help any longer.
Which she is thankful for, she was getting tired of his confessions and warped thoughts. She did not want to hear about it. She did not want to hear about the things that troubles his soul.
He argued, about what love was, and she did not ask for any of it.
She did not ask him to seek refuge in her. She did not ask for the same conversation. She did not ask him to bury his secrets so far down her throat she had to cough them out to someone else.
Is that why he is angry? Why did he say all these things? She did not know.
But now,
She has nothing left to say. No words of apology or gratitude. She is now satisfied.
She does not have any more secrets choking her, she does not have a broken boy asking for help.
She does not miss him.
She does not miss his sorrow.
She does not miss the sting of truth.
He was just a broken boy, remember?
