I’d always thought the most difficult pain was one that was physical. Stab me with a knife but you still won’t shatter my resolve.

But in one instant, with one sentence, I feel myself shatter. Disbelief rolling into shock into burning hot anger.

But as quickly as the anger comes, I find myself breaking, coming apart at the small cracks you just whipped into me. You reach to comfort me and I let you. I let you because it can’t be true. You can’t lie to me and make me out to be a villain when you’re the one cowardly enough to hide.

And that’s how we are--- me curled in a ball and you wrapping me in a hug--- when I finally get the strength to utter two words.

Get out.

It’s not my apartment. I have no authority here. But something in you understands that you’ve broken something that can’t be fixed.

So you’re gone, slamming the door so hard I swear I hear it splinter or maybe that’s me, still trembling in shock and alone.

Except for him. He’s not like you. He’s honestly nothing like the others. We say we’re friends but something lingers under the surface of his eyes that reminds me we could be more. But it’s his honesty that you will never be able to top.

He’s blunt and crude but at least he’s true. His lies will never hurt me because they do not exist. He doesn’t hold me like you do. He doesn’t comfort me in the slighest.

He’s cold and harsh but his words are pure.

And honestly I prefer it to your comforting lies.