All these twisted thoughts of freedom were escaping from my head and intertwining with his whispers of ‘I don’t want to lose you’. It was rather depressing. The opposition of emotions we both were battling directly in front of one another, except he was the only one fighting to stay.

I felt stripped of my worth but still found enough of strength to mouth the words ‘go home’. But I didn’t want him to leave; and he couldn’t leave, because this was his home.

I leaned against the wall, wiping my tears, looking up at the person he was months ago. Then a sudden rush of anger boiled through my veins, memories triggered of who he used to be, flooding back, and I told myself that man is never coming back.

He grabbed my neck and pulled me in. I had nowhere to go. His grip tightening around my invisible wounds, pushing all my words back down my throat. Then he kissed me, staining my lips with this disappointing taste of cigarettes and his interpretations of the truth.

I had this impeccable way of speaking with my eyes, especially through sadness. He sensed my anger spiraling down, shattering on the pavement.

When he let go of me, I bit my tongue and held anything I could have said inside of me, because this type of silence wasn’t ready to be broken by some hypocritical, contradicting twenty-three year olds.

I let him take all of me. And he let me take all of him. But we still stood there pretending to be strangers. I knew I had his heart. And the last thing I wanted was to poison it with the facts – I was not in love with every part of it. He is fragile to the concept of love. And I am weak to the reality of it. But I’ve reached the point of accepting this is where it’s supposed to end.

I could tell you that my heart wasn’t aching in my chest. I could tell you that I didn’t have a lump in my throat so big I could have spit it right onto that concrete. I could tell you that I didn’t feel my eyes swelling in their sockets; but I would be lying.

He held my hand, gently. I studied the outline of his fingers, and followed it to his warm face, his tired eyes, and all his features that still made me smile, and I told him that I loved him, through my dead eyes hoping I would feel something again.

The opposition of emotions we both were battling directly in front of one another, except he was the only one fighting to stay.