All that is left is ruins.

by Hayet El Hamdi.

I smoked cigarette after cigarette trying to understand what happened, what went wrong. I realised that it wasn’t me, it’s you. It was you all along.

I’m sure that I love you because I can be alone and not feel lonely. I don’t need a boyfriend or a lover or a fuckbuddy, because I learned to love myself — as pretentious as it sounds.

You killed me with perfection, fulfilled promises and hands that did everything to me. I fell for you the way a train wrecks itself, the way a wave crashes into a shore. It looks like fear, and feels like recklessness.

Did I hurt you?

Did I do something to deserve this?

Was I too boring? Less playful than your liking?

I kept asking myself these questions over and over as I ordered my 16th shot of vodka, but even alcohol couldn’t save me from the thought of you. But, you know I love finding reasons to drink and heartbreak made drinking everyday, since the last time I saw you, at any godly hour socially acceptable.

I felt pain, and not the ‘I broke my rib’ kind of pain. I stared at my drunken self in the mirror, talking to my reflection and referring to myself in the third person, with tears streaming down my face, begging her — me — to just hold on and be strong. That’s pain.

Remember when you woke up and asked me why I was awake? I couldn’t tell you that I didn’t catch a wink, panting and shaking because I shouldn’t be imagining you kissing people that aren’t me. But, God, I saw you touch her and when your lips collided with hers, my whole universe and entire being shut down. I knew that I had to stop being so insecure and shouldn’t let this fucking paranoia get the best of me but it felt real, baby.

Until I saw it with my own eyes, in front of me.

As I was waiting for the hydrocodone to kick in, you were sliding off her jeans.

As my body went numb, you were kissing her neck.

As I stared at the ceiling with the feeling of your mouth against mine pulsing through my brain, you were tasting her skin.

As I let the first tears slip down my cheeks, you slipped into her and I lost it all.

You lost it all right there in a closet with alcohol running through your veins to a girl you’ve never met before and I was numb from the painkillers that made my vision blurry and my heartbeat slow.

I saw it coming weeks before it happened but still, it hurt me like a knife drawn slowly against my spine. Decreased calls. Short texts. I knew some infinities are greater that others but when you said forever, as stupid as I was, I thought you meant it.

I’m sorry you felt the need to spend hours trying to shove pieces of me together in a frantic effort to create something cohesive. I guess no one told you that I was a puzzle with missing pieces and frayed edges that will never form a beautiful picture. It exhausted you and I already saw dark circles under your eyes, so you felt the need to move on.

Four months later, I wake up at 3 a.m. gasping for air and trying not to scream because I forgot what your mouth tastes like while you tasted her skin nearly every night this week (how many secrets can you keep?). All I taste in my mouth is acid and bitter. My hands won’t stop shaking. Vision blurry with tears (I was on my period, okay?), I held my breath for so long, my head started spinning and I hoped I would pass out so I can forget your name even if it’s for just a moment, I wanted to feel what it’s like not to be haunted by you.

You fucked me over in a way that didn’t just ruin things between you and I, but between any person who may decide they want to be a part of my life in the future.

I became a cruel person after you.