A mystery no more

So sad.

He loved me. That beautiful, mysterious man loved me. He told me so. I rejoiced and showered him with my kisses. Something in me changed though, and he stopped loving me. He stopped writing songs about me and sending me flowers. He didn’t ring me up just to see how I was. It destroyed me inside a little. I remember those long, lonely nights I wished he was by my side. I would often walk the streets for hours, or sit on a bench and watch the passers-by. It was my way of “dealing” with it.

At the time, I couldn’t understand why he had left me, why he no longer gave me his love. I can see now though. It’s so horribly apparent.

 

I became ridiculously possessive of him. It was hideous to him, it repelled him, that’s why he left. I can remember realising it the day after he called me and told me it was over. It was such a horrible realisation. Whenever he would go out to a bar after work, I’d always check up on him and call him to make sure where he was, and whether any of the girls in the bar were pretty. At first, it wasn’t so bad, and he’d reassure me, but after a while, it became repulsive, and he would switch off his phone. He got back one night after going to a bar without his mobile, and I slapped him. I stood in the hallway of our house, and I slapped him! How stupid I had acted. It’s done now though, and, looking back on it, I suppose I deserved everything I got.