Three Counts of Manslaughter

It was impossible to keep those three small words from pouring out and ruining everything. 8 little letters that pack enough punch to kill. I bit my tongue. Hard enough that blemishes began to coat the inside of my mouth. Scars that fit together like the pieces puzzle that told the story of us. Little reminders that you were really here. That you exist. Evidence that never left the morning after or whispered sweet nothings in my ear.

We played a game of hide and seek except my turn to hide never seemed to come. I stood, eyes covered, head bowed in the corner counting for what seemed like an eternity. Searching aimlessly hoping to hear you beckon me so this lost puppy look would remove itself and be replaced with the old me. The me you ruined.

All I could do was hope. But we both know how useless that is. So I screamed at the top of my lungs until no oxygen remained. Cried and moaned and mourned until the well of hurt had been sucked dry. And i said those three little words that murdered us over an over again. Because you were no longer there to hear them.