Scarred.

If I had never known him, maybe I wouldn’t run away as much now.

It was three years ago, and still, I’m still fragile about it. I could complain about my own sanity, damaged by that amount of compromise followed by such devastading good bye. But that’s one scar that doesn’t itch. I’ve got others that burn every night, still livid. It feels like it was yesterday. And maybe it was. Maybe I’ve been walking around pointlessly ever since. I’ve got scars that burn every time I think about how deeply I loved him and how desperate I got when he left me.

Trying to fight it is helpless. Most of the time, I don’t even think of it. But sometimes, when he flashes my mind, and when I remember how much I cared and how sad I got, I feel my arms weaken, my forehead frowns, and tears treaten to fall.

Telling yourself that’s just how life is, that it’s unfair, that doesn’t help. It is unfair. The way he made me happy, that was absurd. I’d never thought it was possible for any person, let alone me, to feel that way. Everything he said, he saw me the way I always wanted someone to see me, and he’d warm me up. He’d tell me I was the best person anyone could meet, that he didn’t know how he got so lucky. He said I made his world stop. And I know I did. And he did.

Every night I waited up for him, wondering if I’d see him the next day, that scar still burns. I listen to the song I would, when I didn’t want to come out of bed, knowing I wouldn’t see him anytime soon. I spent longer wishing to see him than seeing him. I spent longer waiting for him than with him. The agony, the waiting, the worrying, that killed me every time he left. But I loved him too much, I loved him too deeply to complain. Deep down inside, I knew he was mine. And more important than that, I knew I was his. And I knew that would never change.

Losing him brought me an amount of sadness that was equally related to how happy he had made me. I could hardly bear it. I still don’t know how I’m still alive. I spent days that turned into months wishing it wasn’t true. Denying quietly, lost without the will to be alive. And every time I think of it, of how much it hurt, I realize that scar still lives on.

It hasn’t changed.

It burns inside of me to think I lost the love of my life. But I will always be his, even after such devastading good bye.

L.