“It’s not you, it’s me.” You explained it so easily, so nonchalantly. You told me you didn’t think I’d take it the way I did and yet you were the one who did things that gave me the *wrong* idea. I spent my time and energy picking up your broken pieces and in turn, you broke me into pieces. I tried hard… I really did. But the fragments were so small that it made it difficult and just as when I am about to tape my shattered heart, you found ways to draw me in even deeper. Deeper, deeper I go. Losing air and drowning. Wanting to scream for help but not having any strength left to be able to. You came up with brilliant excuses that enabled you to crawl back into my life. You knew my weakness and you used it to your convenience and satisfaction. A master of manipulation. “It’s not you, it’s me.”
