secondhand heartbreak

xvi. broken fragments

i find her in the bathroom.

her arms are braced against the counter like she's about to collapse—she just might, with the way she's shaking—and never once in all the time i've known her has she looked half as fragile as she does now.

(what's on the outside rarely ever matches what's on the inside, though.)

(some are better at hiding it than others.)

our eyes meet in the mirror, and i see everything in that pained expression on her face: every buried truth, every desperate desire she's keep hidden for so long.

all she wants is for him to destroy her, then gather her up in his arms and put her back together.

all she wants is for him to tear her apart, then build her up again, mismatched pieces and broken fragments and all.

(as long as he still loves her after—she doesn't care.)

all she wants is for him to make up for every time someone broke her, and didn't fix her. every time someone splintered her heart to tiny little shards, then let them sit in that hollow pit in her chest, cutting her up from the inside out.

all she wants is to know someone cares enough to see their damage through til the end, to stay long enough to gather up the broken shards in that hollow pit in her chest and patch the holes left in her heart.

all she wants is for him to stay longer than she will.

she doesn't know if her heart, if that hollow pit in her chest, can take it if he leaves first. she doesn't know if she can bear to repair the damage again if he leaves first, just like everyone else has.

someone has to leave first.
and this time,
it has to be her.

it has to be her.