“He was sweet at first, he swept
her right off her feet with soft words whispered in her ear, late
night phone calls, and a pleasant scent of body spray. He would
hold her in strong arms and with bright green eyes, he would tell
her that he would never leave her. They say people change, and I
didn’t believe it until I met him. His happy green eyes
became brown, angry, red and glazed. He stopped smiling, and he
stopped whispering kind words in her ears. He stopped calling her
late at night, and his scent of body spray faded into the
nose-tingling scent of marijuana. His decent grades became failing
marks, until he was expelled and then dropped out. His strong arms
become skinny and frail. He stopped eating and he stopped sleeping,
and his once tight abdominal muscles because poking ribs. His eyes
became shadowed by deep purple circles, and I started noticing the
track marks, pinpoints where he stuck a needle under his skin. Then
one night, she called me from the hospital, crying, telling me that
he slit both his wrists, and that was when I knew. I knew that
people changed, and I knew that there was nothing I could do for
him, for her, for me, or for anyone who would eventually change and
lose everything that made them themselves. But it didn’t stop
it from hurting. Not even close.”
— this is
reality
“He was sweet at first, he swept her right off her feet
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Nov 4, 2014 10:40pm