It's not so hard to blame myself, I could have been better. Maybe I could have even loved better, I could have been more patient. I could have done this and done that. But none of that will ever change anything, not anymore.

It's not so hard to blame karma either, well I mean, if Karma was the name of the Other Woman. Maybe things turned back around and bite me when I least expected it. Maybe I deserved this. Maybe I shouldn't even complain.

All the times I have hurt other people — maybe this is revenge. Maybe I shouldn't even complain as the pain I felt isn't even half of what I had caused others. Maybe I am the bad person, and I needed to feel this to wake up.

Yet the most hysterical crying, the screaming sobs only interrupted by the person's need to draw breath, came from me. It was a primal sound, one people are programmed not to ignore. Yet no one turned their heads, caught between an impulse to help and another to stay out of bother. To be so close to such pain changes a person, even just temporarily. The whole world had vanished for me, now there was only pain enough to break me, pain enough to change me beyond recognition.

I would of rather had him take a knife to my skin than speak the cold words he did. He spoke to me as if I were a mere stranger when for the past few years we had been as close as it is possible for two people to be. He strikes me out as if I had crossed some invisible line in the sand. He looks into my eyes and says whatever will hurt the most, and knowing me as he did that wasn't hard to come by. . .

I am no longer a baby being greeted by smiles and then mirroring them. It's as if like a shuttlecock, I am passed from one person to the other. Smiles or compassion were as foreign to me as Mars and about as rare as Halley's comet, so I just got used to coldness. Since then, the hope of ever having love or giving it had flaked like a painted butterfly on a wall year after year, gradually fading into non-existence.

On the inside I live in a never ending death. At night I suffer, pouring out my tears to the stars, begging them with my tear-soaked eyes to understand this misery. Will no one understand that my heart is no longer my own, will anyone love me so much that they could see past this pain?

Am I less human because he never loved me but truly did love her? Am I less because my beginnings were so much worse than hers? Perhaps he will take the one thing I am most proud of and shatter it with glee. In those moments I didn't really know who he was and I wondered if he knew himself. Doesn't he know what he's doing? Can't he stop?

Barely able to breathe, I am in a state of shock, of disbelief. How could this really be happening? I have had nightmares like this before, but I would always wake up finding him beside me. Why am I not waking up from this? It hurts. It hurts so bad. It hurts so much. I just want it stop.