There is no number of slammed doors or angry words that cue the end.
My skin will set to fire as your body rolls on top of mine.
When the manic weeks end, if we have made it through them, I beg you to please try to look at me the same. But you will know that they’ll be back within a few months and you’ll begin to hate the person you love again.
You were past that with me. You no longer felt any humanity towards me. You picked up your things and you slammed the door behind you.