you can’t live without him. even breathing seems difficult. you can’t imagine a life where you don’t know him, where you’re blissfully unaware of the passions that consume you. you don’t want to know a life without that. but he’s gone, and by the looks of it, he’s not coming back anytime soon. there’s not much you can do. it hurts, it hurts like hell. this isn’t the way things are supposed to be. they’re supposed to be better than this. you’re better than this, you’ve always been better than this. this isn’t you - you don’t get hurt, and especially not by a man. he shouldn’t even count as a man, you think to yourself. fucking coward. but you’re supposed to be stronger than this. you shouldn’t be curled up in your bed, your white sheets wrapped around you, tears streaming down your face because he left you. he shouldn’t have left you. he was yours, and he was supposed to always be yours. but there was a large difference what’s supposed to be, and what actually is. he’s supposed to be here right now, with his arms wrapped around you, his familiar scent surrounding you. he smelled like warm cinnamon and broomstick oil most of the time. you didn’t like it at first, but now you can’t live without it. you don’t ever want to live without it, because living without it means that you’ve actually lost him. but the thing is you think you actually have lost him.
now, when you look at yourself in the mirror, you don’t see yourself like you used to. your hair is dull, and lifeless now. your lips are no longer that shade of pink, perfectly pouted, alluring, drawing in attention from many a passerby. your eyes - your eyes are shallow. there’s nothing but pain and anger in your eyes. you can’t believe he left you. after all you’ve been through, he left you, and that makes you sick to your stomach. you’re not good enough for him - you were never good enough for him. you were just something to pass the time. everything you’ve ever felt for him. it’s been a complete lie. he never really loved you, you tell yourself. if he had, he wouldn’t have left. he would’ve know that when you get angry you go ballistic. when you get angry, nothing matters but what you feel, and you’ll say whatever comes to your mind. he knows that. he’s provoked you enough to know that. but he’s gone. he’s left you. and slowly, you realize that he left you. that he thought that you weren’t good enough? if you aren’t good enough, who is? his hand? and slowly the betrayal and initial hurt and shock that you felt turn to anger. but you’re still not sleeping at night. sleeping would come too easily, wouldn’t it?
instead the circles are growing darker and darker. your sheets now feel like sandpaper against your skin, so you spend night after night curled up in an armchair, staring into your fireplace, looking at the warm flames lick the bricks that surrounded it. the colors are so mesmerizing, and the way the flames dance around each other. you remember the first time you two dance, and your eyes shut, your legs pulled into your chest, curling up into the fetal position. you don’t want to remember him, you don’t want to remember anything about him, you don’t want him. he makes you sick to your stomach, he makes you want to stab something. you know you’re lying to yourself. he makes you want to cry, and laugh, and dance all at the same time. but right now, it’s mostly crying. you feel like you’ve been stabbed in the side, or something. you don’t know what to do: so you sit in your armchair, and you close your eyes, tears escaping them, silent sobs escaping your mouth as you clutch your sides. but then the sun comes up and you have to pretend like everything’s fine. you smile, but you feel like breaking down. your eyes aren’t the same anymore. there’s no spark in them, no twinkle anymore. your laugh is soft, and dry. people notice, but they can’t do anything. no one can do anything, but he can.
but seeing him would make everything so much worse. because seeing him would mean losing yourself to emotion completely. you can’t do that. you can’t let him win.
