November

This is the story. It’s the story of us. Rather so, me. And you. And how we seemed to cross paths for a swift moment before it all went to hell. This is the story of how you ruined my life.

We were so young. I had never been loved before, felt safe and protected by someone who actually cared. But you used me. You took my heart and squeezed it every so often to see what would happen, just for your amusement. I was for your amusement. I don’t think you ever even cared. I was brainwashed, that sickly sweet smile wiping every thought from my head, keeping me paralyzed where I was. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t run or scream for help. You made me think everything was ok, the way your hand squeezed mine in a way I thought meant you loved me. It was actually the opposite. You wanted to feel my hand crushing in yours. You wanted the pain to what? Make me complacent, scared of what you would do if I left? But I left. Thank god I left.

Now you can’t scare me. I’m not yours anymore. I am mine. Mine and my own. Your old girl is gone. It’s a new me now. The me who knows how cruel you are, how manipulative. I understand. It was never a relationship. It was a dictatorship.