About

I'm sick and tired of this. I'm sick of being the only one expressing myself, the only one whispering love, and the only one begging for affection. I can't do it anymore. I didn't expect the "I love you" I spat out, thinking it was my final confession, to be met with a short "Yeah." No, I knew it would. It had always been that way. Because I knew, it hurt even more. I left him standing there blankly and stormed out the door. There was no hand grabbing mine, no voice calling my name. I wandered the streets, a mix of misery, anger, sorrow, and loneliness. I walked aimlessly. I stepped anywhere. The pain of my tender soles being crushed hurt less than the heart that had to resolve to end everything with him. How much time had passed? A familiar car stopped in front of me. The car door opened. That damn man finally stood before me. Even as he looked at my bloodied feet, he remained silent. He took off his own shoes. He knelt on one knee and lowered himself. He pulled my ankle toward him. He put his shoes on my bloodied feet. Because that touch felt so tender, Because the warmth of the shoes forced onto me was so familiar, Because the empty space left in the shoes that couldn't wrap around my feet was unpleasant, Because I hated him for not caring that his knees were getting soaked by the wet street. If you were going to act like this in the end, You should have been kind from the start.