Destroyed

I keep trying to write it down.

To put words to your simple act of destruction.

It plays over and over in my mind.

Showing up to your apartment.

Typing the code into the keypad.

Opening your door.

Excitement flowing through my veins.

Joy I wanted to share with you.

My best friend.

I set my stuff on the bar and made my way to the living room.

“You look really happy!” you said.

“I am!” I replied.

The words poured out of me as I described the weekend.

I shared every joyous and anxiety filled moment.

You waited until I was done and laughed.

Not an honest laugh, but disapproving.

How long you spoke, the exact words you said, I cannot repiece together in my mind.

You mocked my happiness.

You tore apart every happy moment I shared, piece by piece.

And within moments, you had me convinced, how nobody could ever love me.

Nor myself being capable of love.

I don’t know where I found the strength,

but I laughed and joked back,

despite slowing dying inside.

My phone pinged and you scoffed.

I had to go; it was a saving grace.

I hugged you and left.

I cried the entire way home.

No, not just the entire way home.

I hid in rooms throughout the night, hiding my sadness from those around me.

Hours and hours, acting like it wasn’t hard to breathe.

When the morning came, I moved slowly.

Cautious of every move I made.

I held to silence for the day.

Questioning the worth of my words.

Questioning the worth of myself.

Questioning how easy it was for my best friend to destroy me.