We met. We loved. He told me he wanted to marry me. He cheated. He lied. I went crazy. Stayed with him. Why? I don’t know. Well, maybe. I actually loved him. He lied. He cheated. AGAIN. I became an entrusting bitch. Went through hell for another year. I broke up with him.
Now, he says he doesn’t love me and I’m dead to him. Why? Because I’m telling him every last thing I thought about him and it’s the truth. He tried to turn it around on ME. That I was crazy for no reason. That I was a bad person and I tried SO FUCKING HARD thinking that it would be worth it. Thinking that love was something worth fighting for. I had never tried so hard for something. That fucking bastard.
He can’t face the truth. He can’t admit that he lied and cheated and was abusive and did horrible things that I never told anyone about. Maybe I was too in love to tell. Maybe I was too ashamed. Your name is poison to my lips.
I’ve never hated anyone more in my life.
where do broken hearts go? can they find their way home?
