When I was younger, I used to think I could trick my mind and body into loving the feeling of pain. So that instead of agony, this weird sensation I was feeling was something euphoric. That the blood pouring out of my skin was all of the tormented and anguished things nobody found the time to love in me.
When I met you it was like love at first sight. Your cheeks had matched everything I had ever wanted to be. Hollow. Your haunted eyes were something I thought meeting mine could fix. And to just my luck, you thought I walked like a model. You found me beautiful. You said hello and exhaled the toxins that traveled from your breath. I loved it. It was euphoric.
You told me how you'd never forget the structure of my face. How my skin had felt like clay had been plastered over my bones and how it made your thumb tingle when you brushed it against my cheek. my cheek. my cheek. You let time pass by, you left me alone to die. An almost eternity of never touching my "clay" face again. You watched it dry out and begin to crack because you, you forgot to keep it moist with your lips. your lips. your lips. But I loved it. Because I had taught myself that the pain I was feeling was something euphoric.
You let me tell you that I'd never forget the taste of your lips. Je n'oublierai jamais. Then you made me wait months to meet them again, to see them again. Except I'd never even see them again. Because now, she was seeing them over and over again. You told me forever, that you'd go through any endeavor, but then responded to the question of our entire love affair "did you ever?" with "never."
I could never find euphoria in what you did to me. Ironically, when you had left me with so much pain. I didn't walk like a model anymore. I didn't think I was beautiful. The innocence and little self confidence I had held within my body, within my blood, was taken by the toxins in your breath as you finally inhaled all of me. You said goodbye and made me everything I had always wanted to be before I had met you. Hollow.