If she knew, it was only because the noise in her head had quieted for a moment. If she breathed, it was only because the dull ache had subsided so her chest could rise and fall and hum like it used to, so that the cold air could infiltrate her lungs and make her cold and numb and beautiful. There is never such a pain as this, a pain so hungry. There is never such a grip on your throat as when he tells you he does not love you, when he tells you that it was all for nothing, that you are not enough.
There is never such a tightness, such a loneliness, because you cannot be angry, can you? He was neither cruel nor unkind, heartless or vengeful, he simply just did not love you, anymore.
She looks in the mirror, covered in the same skin and hidden behind the same eyes and think, useless. The inside covered by the outside could not hold on to the one side of the thing that was keeping it all going. It was you. It was your hand on hers in the morning, it was whispered secrets and soft memories that have been vanquished because well, he doesn’t love her anymore, does he?
What happens now, when it was always you? It was his hand on hers in the morning, it was whispered secrets and soft memories that have been vanquished because well, he doesn’t love her anymore, does he?
There is no such pain as this, no such fear as this. Humbled by it, she picks up the pieces that have fallen all over the floor, wondering how she could ever love such a broken thing as the girl in the mirror if he could not.