It was snowing, it felt magical, for the first time in such a long time.
It was cold and I felt free, finally free from the shackles of darkness, the same shackles which imprisoned me for such a long time.
The snow was red, drenched in the sweet blood running wild from my open wounds. It was a massacre, yet somehow that was the very reason it made me feel alive. I was happy, the war ended, it was all over. Now I was free of her, free of whatever hell or heaven we had, free and alone with myself.
Everything was beautiful, I thought, everything but me. I felt as if I was surrounded by all the wonders of the world, yet didn't belong among them.
I had become a heartbreaker, there was no doubt, I had broken her. As heartbroken as I was, I couldn't stop myself from doing the same to her. Maybe this was my role in her life, the one to break her heart, the one to show her she can be infinitely stronger than she is now.
No, hell, I wasn't evil, I can't be, but what was I? What did that make me, what did breaking the heart of the one I adored say about me? How could there be any excuse for what I've done, for the monster I had become?
The story behind the words:
I wrote this thinking of how I was hurt and hurt others. People I love, the woman I loved most in this world. Of how I broke her heart and she broke mine. Of how with her I was imprisoned, yet without her, I wasn't free. Of how freedom was meaningless without love. I thought of myself as a heartbreaker, a monster, someone who hurt the one he loved most.
Thank you for reading.
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As always, have a great day,
Alex