Until now, I wasn’t used to this sick feeling of falling apart. I thought I could handle it the third time around but I never knew I would be lying to myself. He just left me again. I felt cold and the rage was flowing in my veins. I thought he would choose me this time. But I was so damn wrong.
I wasn’t strong, wasn’t weak either. I was lying in between. I wasn’t a rock that could never be tamed or a titanium that could never receive bruises or wounds. I was a sensitive skin. The harder the cut would be, the deeper it would sink. And this time, that cut seemed impossible to heal.
I didn’t want it anymore. I would step up today. I would build my walls higher than ever and paint my face with stronger mask.
All these realizations came when I felt defeated with that shit called love.