In My Darkness There Is No Light.

When people say there are moments in life, that turn your whole world upside down, you take it with a pinch of salt.

Cause why would anything major happen to you? You've done nothing wrong, you've done your best and you've succeeded in being something great.

But then someone waltzes into your life, makes their mark and leaves. That's when it all hits rock bottom.

I simply cannot fathom how much I needed someone - who was once a stranger - so much. I let my walls down, I let him slide past the gates and wrap his hands around my heart. He clung tight, suffocating me with a bubble of pure euphoria. Like nothing in the world could take this feeling away.

Of all people, I wouldn't expect him to take it away.

Not him. Never him.

But he did. And now I'm left trying to gather up the pieces of my heart which lay tattered and frayed on the floor.

I've never been the happiest of people, my smiles are false the majority of the time, my laughter a little too loud, my hugs a little too tight. I try to be eccentric, to throw people off, to take me off their list of unhappy people.

But with him, nothing was false, nothing was put on. I was genuinely happy in his company. I hope he was genuinely happy in mine.

People never know the truth about me until they dig deeper, when they get me alone, when they speak to me away from everyone else. I am not a happy person.

My scarred skin is one sign, from the mental torture, physical abuse and the holes shot into my self-esteem. I am a shell wrapped in tissue paper, fragile to the touch and easily broken.

I hate that I allowed my walls to come crashing down, I hate that I let him get through the gates, he saw me at my most vulnerable point, where nothing was there to hide me. It scared him off, that's what I believe.

And as I sit and write this, I cry, I cry for what I have lost. I cry for the memories, the love, the hugs, the laughs, everything.

That is all we are now. We are memories. We are the past, not the future. I wanted there to be a future, but I never got that.

I wanted it to carry on. To be able to say he is mine and I am his. To be able to look into his eyes and find comfort even in the darkest of places, to feel his skin pressed against mine, the heat cascading off him and enveloping me in a place that I call home.

I am not a happy person. That much is clear. You can tell from the frown lines that crease my forehead, that etch their way into my skin.

I am youthful on the outside, the face of pure innocence. But on the inside, I am an elderly woman, aching and fragile, broken beyond repair.

But it's all my fault. I let him get too close, I let him see my true colours, and I'll pay for that. In every sense of the word.

I can't say I regret it, because at the time, I enjoyed it. I loved that he could break me down and analyse my every segment, and that he could still love me through it.

But that is all gone. Mere memories that I cling onto.

Being upset isn't even the word. That word isn't strong enough. I am broken beyond repair, it feels like I'll never be fixed again.

I am not a happy person. That much is clear, you can see by the way my eyes constantly shed a tear.