A place in my soul that I never knew existed broke that day. It really is true that you don’t know what you’ve got until you lose it.
I was happy with him. So why did I ruin it? I caused him so much pain. And it rebounded. I caused myself pain in turn.
I don’t even know why I liked him. The interloper. Now my husband. In fact, I didn’t like him. He surprised me. He fought for me. That was all it took to corrupt me, to make me break things.
I had a modicum of self-respect, before I did it. All I can think about it, in hindsight, is ‘I’m such an idiot’.
What I did tore my soul in two. I didn’t know I even had a soul until I broke it, but a piece of it will always be damaged now.
I used to wonder if I was a psychopath. I never knew emotions until they spilled out of me like a broken faucet. How can I describe the feeling?
I felt like I had lived my whole life never knowing the touch of the sun, only to find I’d been sitting under it all along as I was dragged, gasping for air, to the depths of the cold, unfeeling ocean.
It was a splitting ache emanating from my head and heart at the same time. It was a punch, a stab, a cut, a slash, but most of all… it was the knowledge that I did it to myself. And to them.
At least I deserved it.
When I looked into his eyes and told him, I wasn’t expecting to see so much anger. The pain, yes. But the rage didn’t fit well on his face. He was unaccustomed… to so much rage. He tried to hide it, but it boiled over.
I’m afraid that I ruined his near-saintly character with my carelessness.
He didn’t deserve to be used. And I know I wasn’t the first to break his heart, but I hope like hell I was the last.