It was hard, and it took time.
To get somewhere that felt more right.
I was trapped inside his glass box,
where everyone could see in but I couldn't see out.
Our time was sliced, butchered by his cold knife.
Cut so thin that there was nothing left to spite.
After I fell and he was gone, he was really still there.
Every corner I turned, saw his face in the crowd.
All of my world was a constant reminder,
the music, the clothes, all the friends we shared.
Had to pick myself up off of the ground he left me on,
needed to keep my head high like they say, and stay strong.
Had to watch life continue to move on,
and him move on to the next victim.
So I suffered in silence, wore my good face in public.
Showed him that I didn't need him anymore.
Showed him that I could move on too.
Slowly, the gashes he made that September started to heal.
Slowly, I regained myself.
Slowly, I began to allow my heart to feel.
Slowly, I took my time in every move, afraid to get hurt.
I can say that it got better, but the sting is still there.
I could say that I got over him, but that would be a lie.
I can't say that I wouldn't go back in time. I would.
I couldn't tell you just how much he hurt me, even to this day.
I will do my best just to push forward, and truly move on.
I would love for him to know just the damage he caused.
I wish he could know of the crying all night,
the lying that I'm "fine", that without him it just isn't right.
And I wish I could say that it made me stronger,
but sometimes I still feel so weak.
And I wish I could say I got over him,
but that would be a lie.
