“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
rach*