My tears have finally run dry as well as the emotions I have welled up inside me. I'll start by giving you a brief description of myself and how I appear to myself as it is quite important if you don't start picking up the messages that lay in between the lines now you may as well stop reading because you never will.
I am female. I am average height for someone of my age; before you begin to ponder on how old I may be, don't worry that is included sort of in the brief description of myself. I am however old you want me to be and however old you don't want me to be, the reality is I am about 21. Young, I know. But this isn't about how young I am, nor how foolish. Instead, it is about my pain before it consumes me I must release even the smallest amount of it because I read somewhere that pain and heartbreak can kill you. Even though it may not seem it from what you may end up reading, I do love life. Just not mine.
My hair falls in its false straightened state just above my shoulders, when natural it is frizzy and afro-like, it defies gravity. My eyes a dark chocolate colour, almost black if you're not looking too closely at my face. My nose is slightly straight and wide, it isn't big but it sure isn't small. My lips full and soft, slightly pink through the brown skin that covers and protects the veins and cells that lay beneath the surface. If you have ever kissed them you would know I taste like lip balm and ice tea, lemon ice tea to be precise. I have freckles, some noticeable and some not but I know they are there, I see them all. I watch as they fade and as they darken upon my skin, they're just one of my many imperfections. My breasts small and inadequate, my frame small and malnourished looking. I am what you call disgusting to look at in my opinion. I try using makeup and baggy clothes to cover it up but I doubt that works well as I am always reminded of how many flaws I have on the outside.
Now you know of my appearance, you know a little of me. I love old school R'n'B, the kind your mum and dad would listen to whilst they dance around the kitchen or they sing in the car on your way to a day out you had no say in. The embarrassing kind, that was the kind of R'n'B you could fall in love to, find the person who completed you, make mind-blowing love to and smile too, the kind the sends tingles through your whole body and evokes memories of the good old days. I also love R'n'B from this day and age, not all but some. It's simple I'm old school in my beliefs on romance and falling in love, therefore I have those ridiculous ideas that I will find a man who will do anything for me and I for him. In those songs you heard the men sing with true emotion about how they wanted to be the one to make their woman happy, they wanted to know everything so they could be perfect for them. But they forget perfect is boring.
Another cool tip about me is as well as loving the heart eyes version of romance I also loved the firey part, the part that sent heat through your whole body. The kind that would place your soul into a temporary state of venomous rage, the passionate and overbearing kind, the kind that choked you with how real it was. The kind of love my mother would dream of but never received, I couldn't give it to her because I wouldn't be able to love her the way a man could. I could only love her as my mother, the woman who fought tooth and nail for me to have the best life she could possibly provide. I couldn't be more grateful for her to be honest with you, she is truly beautiful my mother. Everyone has always said so, whenever we go out men would make the assumption she was my sister and not my mother, they would act as if the world came crumbling down when they realised she was not my sister but my mother and she was most likely old enough to be their mother or at least their aunt.
Anyway, I sort of went off track there, let me begin the story. I don't have much time so I can't afford to sway off topic again. I would say it all started during my teenage years but I would be wrong. In fact, my story starts with the last man to walk out my life, although my past was an ugly one he made me open my eyes to see how truly alone I shall always be because after him I realised I was broken. He had done it, he had ripped off the band-aid and he had broken me just as soon as I had pieced myself together ready to face the world. He gave me hope, he gave me love, he gave me my light back. I am not sorry, not in the slightest, in fact, I am happy. I am happy he broke me because now I know myself, I know the person that I see whenever I look in the mirror.
