• The Betrayal

    She was crying. Sitting in a corner, sobbing for the world to see. I should have felt sorry, I should have felt sad, but all I felt was numbness. Her eyes had become like glistening ivory balls, small circlets of sapphire glistening in the afternoon light. A shining wash of blonde hair obscured her tiny face, a small doll-face seemingly made of porcelain. Her delicate hands clung to her spindly legs, which trembled with each heaving sob. As I watched her cry, I felt nothing. I didn't know if it was the situation, the setting, or what; I could not muster the littlest bit of sympathy. I sat and watched her cry. I felt like a monster.
    The Truth

    She didn't have to say a word. The long cold walk explained it all; she was nervous, jumpy, worried, and uncertain. When she began to string the sentence together, I merely waited for the punch line. It didn't even sting. That part of my heart had been numb for years, and hearing that once again a chance at happiness had been snatched away didn't even sting. After she'd dropped me off back on campus, I grabbed whatever my hands could find, and began to hurl it across the room, the casualties sliding off the wall. The next morning, the stink woke me up, the stink of what she had done.
    The Revival

    It had been a while since I'd really trusted anyone. Each time I'd see his face, it seemed as if the world had slipped off my shoulders. In the nights we'd talk until we fell asleep, in the mornings we'd grin at each other on the quad. One weekend, like so many others, we'd gotten to talking. I confessed. I released, I opened, like a timid flower. He leaned closer, and I became unsettled. Slamming my head into the wall, I felt myself being lifted. I felt warm, and then, I felt lips. The heat increased, and as I felt him enclose me, I felt safe again.
    The Break

    Together: when I'd heard that word applied to him, I assumed it had included me; that I belonged. It didn't. Instead, some name I'd never heard before followed it. Something left, retracted inside, leaving a hollow core. For no reason at all, I would crash at random. Sometimes it'd be as simple as a quick fit of tears. On the worst of nights, it felt as if my heart was clawing its way out of its chest. I rocked back and forth as my body contorted within; screams were inevitable. Every day was spent applying and re-applying concealing makeup; it became as normal as getting dressed. I was gone, I had left myself to escape to some faraway place: I belonged there. What trudged in and out of class seemed to be nothing more than a shell.
    The Hollow

    Lyrics speak to me. Lyrics of songs I used to listen to when I'd been fighting with an ex. Songs like Yesterday and The Crow and the Butterfly grasp me again, hitting me with one-two punches. But soon their effects numb me; I am a monster again. A vile uncaring, unfeeling thing: as I was before. I am hollow, and despite my emptiness, feel comfort in the absence of myself. The absence allows me to feel nothing, keeps me far from the greedy talons of love and regret. Perhaps that's what separates us after all. She still feels, she's still hurt; I have become a hollow creature. The creature looks down, and smiles.