I wish you knew how bad it fucked me up. Being with you. You knew what you were doing, you knew how it would hurt me when I found out and yet that didn't stop you from doing it anyway.
I still repeat thing things you said to me that day in my head. Analysing it over and over, trying to decipher if you were being sincere in your apology. I knew for weeks something was off. Everything I was scared of happening, happened. Now there's a part of me that's not the same anymore. My heart broke that night when I saw you look at her the way I looked at you. When you looked at her in the way that you used to look at me. Watching you be with her is something I wish I could erase from my mind but it will forever be imprinted there, I will never be able to forget the look on your face. How you'd look at me when touching her. It's burned into my soul and every so often a raging fire ignites within me. How could you do that? Do you realise how many times I fucking cried over you? Do you know how many scars I had to justify because you were the person holding the knife?
Our story is the story of how I died. Of how you took everything good within me and turned it bad. Of how you ruined the softest parts of my soul and turned them hard. And in the end, all I learned was how to be strong alone.
