It was time to end it. I knew that it was. But why did it hurt so much? Why did I feel like I was going to lose a part of my body, a part of my being?
I wasn’t happy. Being with her was killing my soul. I wasn’t myself anymore. I wasn’t that person I had been.
Where loved once lived, hate and resentment were growing. They were growing so fast that just being around her was pure torture.
The urge for me to reach out and touch her, to put my arms around her, to kiss her had gone. When she walked into a room I found an excuse to leave.
Everything she said annoyed me. I found no point in her tales. Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard. Her breathing alone drove me insane.
I didn’t want her to touch me. When she would come home I feigned sleep and when she awoke I had already left.
I had tried to love her. I willed myself everyday. I thought of how hard we had fought to be together. The people we had hurt just so we could be a we.
It was passionate in the beginning. Raw. But now, now it was a simmering flame.
It was time. If she didn’t already know it. She needed to know now. I couldn’t hurt her anymore. I couldn’t keep hurting myself.