The Battle Within

Broken Glass

I loved him with all my heart because when I was nothing but a shattered girl, he wasn't afraid to pick up the pieces even if it meant he would get hurt along the way.

His mind was beautifully dark, forever making me feel the sadness that eminated from his soul. I wanted to capture it to use its darkness to conceal my own hurt. To paint over the broken doll I became. To fill me and stop the hunger that was constantly reaching into every fibre of my being. Maybe his darkness was my cure; maybe my broken body was his chance at fixing himself.

Two beings that had become vessels of nothing pain could finally share that pain.

He didn't know how much I loved him and I didn't realise how much he loved me until it was too late.

It was tragically perfect, my broken glass fitting immaculately over his dark painting. His artwork a cure for my obsession. I didn't need to see the colours. I didn't need to know the meaning. I just needed to protect it.

He helped me. He knew something was wrong the moment I started doing it. He noticed my frail figure, the way my bones began to jut out, how my skins seemed paler, my lips cracked and dry.

How I became a shadow of who I was.

Note to reader:

So I wrote this from the perspective a of one of the characters I have written.

I wrote it quite a while ago when I want in the best place to channel some of the hurt I was feeling into this piece and I hope you like it.

So its a mixture between fiction and some of my own hurt at a point in my life.

I was just looking through some of my old stuff and found it and wanted to share it.

Feel free to let me know what you think.

Lavender ❤