I gave love the finger six years ago. Turned my back on it and said ”it’s just me now, scary as hell, but that’s how it’s got to be”.
So I told a good man I didn’t love him anymore. It wasn’t true. But I needed to stop loving him in order to start loving myself. I needed to throw love out the window in order to find it again.
And to do that, I would have to build myself up from zero. Because I was nobody. Nothing but a well-behaved tangle of pain, a silent scream, reluctantly alive, always anticipating the next crash.
So I left.