I tore my shirt and wrapped your bleeding hand when it missed my face and smashed our bedroom window.
On those nights when the stars were bright and you didn't want to go outside, I told you I didn't mind, the view through the hole in the tinted window was just fine.
When the wind became cold through that window I promised to work extra hours to replace the broken glass, after all, it was my fault.
And when you left those purple paintings on my skin, I told you not to worry about people seeing them - it was almost cool enough to start wearing sweaters.
It wasn't until the third time you held me down and stripped me of my dignity along with my clothes. Heart of ice beating against mine in a blizzard so ferocious and vicious it must have been so loud you couldn't hear me begging, no.
It was only then that I realised that I did not love you anymore.
I smashed that fucking window again on the way out.
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