"And then my heart broke in two." End of my story. End of me. End of the anticipation, anxiety, and the occasional case of butterflies. End of it all. My life was decreasing and I didn't know what to do about it.
Love is a strange thing. It's a dream, to some people. But to most, a living hell. I see no dancing hearts, no passion, no bliss. I see tears falling from my red, warm face; the blood rising to my cheeks as I shy away from it all. Love is more like a car accident. You never expect it, and you think it will be fine. But next thing you know you're in critical condition at your nearest county hospital. I can't look at myself anymore, I cannot. I am hideous. This face I have grown to know so well ponders, burning in my mind. I want to escape this body, this mind. I cannot contain my hatred any longer. As I linger by the piece of glass, obtaining the reflection of this face I know so well, I turn away. My eyes are still stinging, although the tears have faded. My chest is empty as it heaves up and down. No heart remains in my hollow beneaths. I turn away and I have rage. So much rage, inside me.