She Ruined Me, Deeper -

Before her, I had edges. I knew where I ended and the world began. Now? Everything bleeds. A certain song. A street corner. A perfume in an elevator. And suddenly I’m not a person anymore. I’m just a wound with a pulse.

And I don’t know how to build a new god out of these ashes. she ruined me, deeper

The deepest part is this: I’d let her do it again. Before her, I had edges

Memory fades. This is deeper. This is habit . I still make coffee for two. I still turn my head to say something funny to a chair that’s empty. I still dream in the grammar of “we.” And every morning, I have to learn the language of “me” all over again. And every morning, I fail. Everything bleeds

I can’t even hate her. That’s the ruin. Hate would be clean. Hate would be a knife. This is a disease. I still want her to text me. I still check my phone when a specific notification sound goes off. I still, for one sick half-second, believe it might be her. That’s the ruin. Not that she left. That she left a ghost of herself inside my nervous system.

She didn’t break me. She unmade me. Thread by thread. Hour by hour.