The writer of this story has left the call. Nothing compares to having to stick around when the betrayal hits like this. The writer of this story can barely hold on to what’s left, and that’s not much. Keep telling this writer: what you need is deeper than where the eyes meet.
The outer shell has me wanting to hug a drywall. The fireplace has not nearly warmed me up. I turn to an ounce of warmth still left within.
The writer of this story has abandoned the ending, choosing to stay stuck in the fairytale ending with a happily-ever-after built on a lie. The writer of this story is barely holding on to what is left, and that’s barely anything.
This writer has lost everything over the emotion of grief, which is barely a cycle or even a step-by-step process—more like a rollercoaster on steroids.
This writer needs to step away with their sanity still intact. If only the destiny and her plans align, and it’s not another crash landing like in K-dramas. In the writer’s case, she would rather walk away.
Calosha Gomes 
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