I wish you knew what you did to me. Maybe you do. I don’t know. I will never know. We will never speak again; I can feel that.
You took me from myself. You took my love and affection, my trust, and my faith in the belief that everything happens for a reason. You took my fears and you took the monsters that live under my bed and behind my eyes.
You took my trust in myself. You took my self worth and self respect. You took my doubts and curiosity and shoved them down the same dark hole that you threw my happiness.
You took every puzzle piece that made me who I was and tore them apart, one by one. You told each piece why you were too good for it. You hid the puzzle pieces for me to never find.
But you fucked up, because I’m finding them.
Everyday I find a scrap of one and tape it back to myself. They’ll probably never look the same, but that’s okay. They’re stronger. They won’t let someone love them without a fight, but at least when that person does come along (and they will), me and my puzzles pieces will know that they are willing to fight for me and not against.
I hope that I love someone the way you never loved me. I hope that love is something good. I think it is, but I don’t know; it never was with you.
Yesterday while walking home, you’ll never believe what I found. There I was, and I found my self respect, lying there on the pavement in the rain. And today, while I was eating a yogurt, I looked up and saw my courage, sitting there on the counter. This past week, my fears came fluttering back to me on the butterflies that used to flurry around my stomach. Just last Sunday morning, I rolled over and found the kisses I left on your forehead, but they were on a different forehead. I don’t know what this forehead means.
Maybe nothing; but last night while I slept, my trust that everything happens for a reason crept back to me, so I know that things will turn out exactly how they’re supposed to.
I would sign this ‘with love,’ but what we had was the furthest thing from it.