The Loser "Fucktard," he shouted. My world stopped. I stared blankly ahead. No one I loved this much would ever hurt me, I thought. Love was enough, I thought. To help heal his past trauma, just love. But no. Every insecurity, every pain I had was heightened by that one word—"Fucktard." A basic promise—of never name-calling me again, of regretting his actions the first time—was broken. And with that, my trust. Never again will I believe in "love conquers all." All love ever did for me was hurt. How could I expect him to be different? He proved that he lacks respect for me. Why? Because I'm unconditionally and irrevocably in love with someone who has put his ex on a pedestal. "Does it feel good, babe? Name-calling me when I'm fighting with you about name-calling me, when you never did it to your abusive ex? Even when she hit you and slapped you? When you never name-called her, and then you tell me I'm the one—why would I ever believe you?...
The criminal I look at you. I remember I gave you the chance to break me. I didn’t leave, when I knew I should have. I stopped you when you were about to leave. I let myself be bruised. I blink to see if there are any tears in my eyes. I remember the last time. I had thrown it at you, that book that I had painstakingly made as an anniversary gift. I had thrown it at you, hoping, hoping that you’d see it and you’d know what we were losing. I had begged for forgiveness from you, craving for something I knew we had no way of getting back. I had blinked just hoping the pain would go away. I remember when you had told me that you wanted to be with me forever, when you had promised forever. That blue checkered shirt, with its sleeves folded up, the smell of my favourite deo, the half eaten plate of chicken wings, and that playful yet perfect smile. I had blinked, just to make sure that I captured the moment. I remember when we had first met, how you’d sat across from me, just wai...