...And where did that come from, anyway? Where was that depth for the other four years of it, when you were lonely and self-blaming for all of the things he couldn’t or wouldn’t feel? Somehow being hurt by you is just another way he hurts you, and no one understands it because you’re the one who decided to leave. You’re supposed to thrive, now, make his pain worth something. You’re supposed to shave your head and post a photo of yourself at the top of a mountain like some toxically-positive lifestyle guru. How were there still things to prove now? Prove you had a reason to leave. Prove you still exist without him. Prove that throwing in the towel doesn’t make you naïve or stupid. It was all too fucking much.


all writing (c) kat giordano. this is a writer website after all.

background image by carolyn brandt.