Just Me.

Something was taken from me. Something with immeasurable weight. It was intricately tied to the pillars of my being.

I was tightly wound, and losing that thread made me unrecognizable. I would look in the mirror and not know who was staring back. I would run my fingers over my raw skin, wondering why after an hour of showering, after weeks have past, I could still feel you touching me.

They never talk about it. Talk about how having this thing taken from you dismantles you. I had come so. Far. I had learned to love myself after years of self loathing. I had built myself up to someone I felt was worth it. But none of that matters, because the thing that was taken from me is something I can’t give myself back. He can’t give me it back. No one can.

Now? I don’t know who I am. I don’t know who I am without that piece you took from me.

I don’t know what I feel without that piece you took from me.

I don’t know how to love myself without that piece you took from me.