We were more intriguing than some fairy tale.
You were my best friend, and my significant other.
No one had what we had, and I took it all for granted.
Your anxiety worsened as I began to escape the untrue cruel words to you.
You began to have panic attacks, and you began to vomit every meal you ever consumed.
Your bones began to become more visible day after day.
Every time I pressed my body against yours, I could feel the fragile being you had become.
I noticed you decaying in front of my eyes, yet I never said anything not a single word, because I didn't want to accept the fact I did this to you.
I just tried having sex with you over and over again.
Hoping to forget how badly my actions affected you.
You began to notice when we fucked, it wasn't love.
I didn't look into your sad brown eyes anymore.
I paid more attention to the pleasure than the fact you weren't okay.
I didn't sob saying I love you, I didn't whisper any single loving word to you like i use to.
All I said was it feels good, and heavily escaped breaths out of my mouth.
I could have prevented this horrible sight of you, the one I love dying, but I didn't.
I have now accepted I was a coward, and I didn't want to accept what I've done was actually real. It was reality.
Baby, I'm sorry.
