How do you like it now?

She had been mentally picturing an infinite amount of needles being inserted into his heart. The pain, the tears. It was so vivid, as though she were reliving the experience. More as instinct than anything else, she clutched her chest above her heart; just checking for a pulse. I'm still alive. A wave of relief washed through her.

He had enforced so much damage. Left such a horrible, unerasable stain. His memory still made her burst into a series of uncontrollable sobs. Crying always left her feeling embarrassed and naked, exposed. She didn't like to feel that way; she wasn't weak.

That cowboy roped her in, he made her fall in love with him. She had tried to resist, closing her heart off. He snaked his way in, anyway. He slowly permeated through her until his mere existence pulsed in her veins. She was trapped, and couldn't escape. He was the puppeteer, and she the puppet.

Nonetheless, she loved him. learned to adapt to his ways until it was all just routine. Happiness, that's what it was. What's a good relationship without some bickering? It was a perfect balance, the right amount of similarities and differences. Like a lock and key, or puzzle pieces, they seemed to just naturally fit together.

Perfection.

Then he left, leaving in his place a large void. Everything was messed up after that. Days seemed dull and passed by slowly without being occupied with him. Sleep never came easily or lasted long without him at her side. Everything had lost it's luster and shine without him accenting it. Her beauty even seemed to fade, resuming the prior 'average' look since he was there to provide a smile.

On top of that, communication hit rock bottom. Conversations were spread far apart and had been reduced to less than five minutes while lacking any personification. They might as well have been strangers striking conversation to be polite. There was always an excuse. He was busy or he had other priorities. Didn't she matter, too? There was never even so little as an 'I miss you' now and again. Nothing. It was as dead as her grandmother.

Did she know his side of the story? No, she never asked. She was afraid it would upset him. Upsetting or disappointing him was one of her biggest fears. She hated seeming too clingy or overreactive, it was degrading and had the tendency to puch significant others way. You can't help some thoughts, though. It just looked bad from her side. Maybe he doesn't care anymore. Maybe he met someone new. Maybe he's slowly forgetting. Maybe he just doesn't want to hurt my feelings. That's one too many maybe's for her.

He had promised he'd tell her if something had changed. He promised.

What an utter disappointment. He was doing all he had always said he'd never do. Slowly, he was tearing her heart apart; piece by piece. Everyday, she woke up half-hoping to hear his ringtone instead of the alarm clock. She'd crawl in bed, withdrawn and hurt he hadn't called or even texted. This went on until eventually she gave up hoping. If she expected him to not make an effort, she wouldn't be disappointed, right? If she isn't disappointed, then she can't get emotional over it.

But if he can't make an effort, doesn't that say something? If he can't be open, isn't that a problem? Doesn't a relationship take two?

She's willing to do anything for him, even sacrifice her own happiness. There is something there, she's always ensuring herself. A ritual of make believe. He had taken such a huge chunk. A large piece of her heart. She has her sliver of hope that he'll come back. He might just love her still. He has to. There's no way her beloved could do something so cold to her; just take run off with the keys to heart never to return.

He wouldn't do that, would he?

She just needs an answer. One word would either immediately heal her, or break her yet consequently lead to her healing. And build a tolerance to love.

Something that should have been built before.