You told me you were leaving. That you were going home. I replied numbly that I understood. Or something along those lines. I can't remember. Nothing I said then would have changed anything anyway. And you didn't seem like you wanted -needed- anything from me.
And then you turned and walked away.
And then
my heart broke
into a million tiny little pieces.
For the first time, I felt completely and utterly alone.
The tears fell uncontrollably, as though I hoped they could wash away all my memories. Of you. And her. The two people that I had not managed to keep by my side. Two people who at that moment felt as though they were lost to me forever, lost to a dark abyss, lost to a place that I had no way of following. Two people that I had not managed to save.
It hurt. It was painful and I hated it. I hated it along with you and everybody else.
The me now accepts this as being part of living. That I can experience such pain is proof that I am alive.
It feels good to be alive.
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