It’s easy to see it in hindsight, but in the moment everything feels so rushed; it’s impossible to tell up from down, or wrong from right..or living from dying..

But I love him…That was always my excuse at the end of every day that summer. Those nights spent awake wishing to be anything but real, the face of a harsh reality was revealed, and every special moment broken.

You felt special because he was yours? People are not possessions. When you do that, you are giving the key to your happiness to somebody else. So what happens when they no longer see you as the sun or moon or stars, but as waste and dust and not even an afterthought?

You break.

And it’s not beautiful, nor poetic. It’s ugly crying alone at 4am, it’s unwashed clothes and sheets and fast food wrappers overflowing from the trash can. It’s cold feet, empty eyes, bubbling guts and bloody vomit. It’s crying to the point where nothing comes out; no tears or sounds, you just can’t exist..And it leaves you missing days from the calendar and regretting everything prior to the here and now, and the here and now is something you want to destroy, and you realize that you are the moment, that you are the here and now, and you need no more tomorrow’s, no more chances, that time is a stupid harlot, a cheating whore, and you want her out of your life..You don’t want life..

That’s the kind of breaking that happens.

It’s not beautiful.

It’s death.

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