My Everything,

Once, your gaze was fire. Your smoldering eyes burned straight into my heart, that day at school. You had no reason to look; no one ever did, and besides, I was wearing nothing pretty. Just an old sweatshirt and faded jeans that weren't even the "in" style. My hair was limp per usual, a moose- not mouse- brown, and my face wasn't glossed, powdered, or shaded like every other teen girl ever. And yet, you looked, and you looked at me like I was a goddess and not an invisible pansy of a girl.

Once, your words were honey. You came over to me, extending a hand, and wove the one sentence I'd never even dreamed of hearing, ever. "Hi. I just wanted you to know, you're really pretty." Smooth as heck, My Everything. "I am-" Well, you were Perfection to me then, weaving a net of sweetened words to throw over me. "Who are you?" you asked, genuinely wanting to know. "I am Invisible Pansy." Well, I was.

Once, you were my angel. Perfection became My Everything; Invisible Pansy became Goddess. You said that my clothes weren't lame; they were cute. My hair wasn't limp moose; it was rippling chocolate. My face wasn't plain and ugly; it was radient and natural. We baked cookies on the weekends, you got me those earrings I had been admiring for months, and we went to the movies and to the pool and wherever else we felt like going. When I fell asleep in front of the fire, I was tucked in your arms, and you held me safe until I woke up. When I was sick, you brought me homemade soup and a new book to read, and you refused to leave my side for hours, despite the fact that I was contagious. You were always there when I needed a hug; you wiped away my tears and promised that everything would be better soon. Together was the only way I made it through.

Once, your touch was feathers. You would just barely brush my arms, legs, side at first. My Everything, every time you did that, you always left me hungry for more. Soon, you were bolder, sliding down and looping around places. My neck. My waist. My hips. Your body seemed like it was always touching mine: we cuddled on the couch, went sledding, and walked hand-in-hand down the hallways. We wove around each other like ivy when the rare long, lonely, apart-from-each-other weekends were over.

Once, your kiss was candy. Sweet and spicy, perfect lips met mine in an out-of-world experience. My Everything, to this day I still remember the First Kiss. I was in the hallway at school. I went to my locker and found a box of chocolates and a single, beautiful white rose inside. You snuck up behind me, spun me around, and kissed me. Hard. It was completely you: caramel perfection. My Everything, you changed my outlook on love that day.

Then, you met Demon. A Shadow Person, the darkest one of all. You were beckoned to with crooked fingers, with promises that wouldn't be kept; promises that you'd be cool. You would be popular. You would be able to stop. My Everything, you became a Shadow Person too.

Now, your gaze is dead. It used to light up when I was near; now only two things make it do that. And I'm not one of them.

Now, your words are walls. Guarded, rare things around me. Loud and stupid and slurred, sometimes. You used to tell me that I was beautiful. Now you tell me that the only beautiful thing is alcohol.

Now, you're cactus spikes with poison sauce. You yell at me. You shun me completely when you're with your Shadow People. You spit acid and start fires and steal dreams just to crush them.

Now, your touch is granite. My Everything, don't try to deny it. I'm the canvas you practice on. A cut here. A bruise there. Scrape. Slice. Burn. Rock, paper, scissors. I'm paper, but I am flattened by rock. 

Now, your kiss is twisted, marred by that roll of paper and death hanging from between your once-beautiful lips. Those cigarettes you now depend on, the ones that you sometimes fund with my (!) money have made your kisses die, not even a whisper of what they used to be.

So, My Monster, you see what I'm saying? You and your cigarrete kiss get up and get out of my life. Plant yourselves both in rehab. Turn your life around. Repair what you have done and maybe, just maybe, you can come back. Maybe, just maybe, we can be Goddess and My Everything again.

Sincerely yours (well, not anymore), 

Broken