Made you doubt yourself. Made you lose yourself. Made you wish you were someone other than, yourself.
But you once adored that person.
By leaving you nothing, he took everything. Left you nothing to believe in. Clutching air. Nothing to hold on to. No answers. No place to rest. No comfort for your confusion. Not a hand to hold your heavy heart.
Every ending is not happy. Some stories never end at all — stopping before you’re finished.
But you knew that already.
You once dwelled in possibility. In the space between what is and what is yet to be. Neither fortune nor disaster troubled your waters.
Then he stripped you of all that made you. Your confidence. Your hope. Your wit. Your peace. Your dignity. Ruined.
Now the mirror shows you someone ugly. Someone unworthy.
Now you wonder if you’re enough. Or too much. You anger yourself at the thoughts of inadequacy. He even took away your allowance for self-loathing.
You see a reflection that appears unfamiliar but feels like home. It’s comfortable. The sadness. The fury. It’s empty. All the life extracted. The joy. The vitality. All gone. Wrestled from you.
It’s not pretty. But that’s perfect. Someone may wish to take it if it were more attractive. You think you’ll stay here awhile. For now. Until those things you lost find you again.
Until the day you start to miss your smile.