It was summer
My hair was a bit shorter, my smile a bit bigger, and my eyes shining a whole lot brighter. I remember staying up till 3 am on the phone with him, I remember telling him about the art that I loved and how much he wanted me to try painting with him and maybe even on him–a flirty smile would slip on his face and I would blush almost immediately. I remember watching him cry one night while he confessed to me that he was a liar, that none of it was real and that I was a nice girl.
I shattered that day, a million or so cracks found their way on my porcelain surface and something strange inside of me broke forever.
But fall and winter gave me some time for healing, I escaped unscathed.
It was spring
My hair was a lot longer, my smile drifted in from time to time, and my eyes had faded quite a bit but I was coasting through life with someone that taught me how to feel in extremes. But he wanted things when he wanted them, and got them when he asked.
I went tumbling down once again and the fissures that had barely filled themselves opened up, the contents of my enclosed heart came pouring out and I can’t figure how I got over it last time–or why this time I can’t even describe how I feel.
Insignificance is purely relative by definition but sometimes it feels like a mass growing within your mind, body, and soul. I am shards of glass scattered on the tile and everyone is walking around me, careful not to get cut and waiting for someone else to come along and sweep up the mess. It’s all too much, it all feels too fresh still. A nasty wound that hasn’t been given the proper care, it oozes and pusses over the surface of my skin and leaves everyone with the sorest sight their eyes have ever seen.
But you don’t really care do you? You aren’t here to diagnose my aches and pains.