We were complicated. We always had been, but I never thought we’d get so complicated, that we couldn’t handle it anymore; that I couldn’t handle it anymore. Our last week, our last month, wasn’t something I wanted to keep with me, but it didn’t seem to want to go away. He was always on my mind; I was always worrying about him: what he was saying, how he felt, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get myself to let go; to realize that I couldn’t destroy myself over someone who’s goal was to destroy me. I did realize that I needed to get away, from him, from everything that reminded me of him, from everyone that reminded me of him, but I couldn’t drop out of school, and I had nowhere to transfer to, so I was forced to live with all the constant reminders of him. I was forced to live around him, avoid him, not let myself love him; not let him know I still loved him.

We had been so perfect, everyone said so, and even though we refused to put a label on ourselves, we knew what we were, and how we felt. Everything seemed perfect. He took care of me; he took pride in me. I was his "shiny new toy", his prized possession, that he wanted everyone to know about, and although sometimes, he kept a little too tight of a leash, I dealt with it, because I knew, overall, he was keeping me reeled in to protect me, because he loved me. He understood that I didn’t want a label, because labels led to disasters, and I thought I could avoid one, but looking back, I should have seen the tornado in the distance, in the background of my “perfect” life.

The storm came slowly; the tornado came a million miles an hour. All the little things he began to do, I tried dealing with. I didn’t want to be dramatic, and I figured a little flaw here and there couldn’t hurt. I didn’t realize a giant sinkhole was beginning to form beneath me as the foundation of my world began to crack. His little stabs, his mean jokes, his games, they began to add up, and the cracks continued to grow, and the more I tried to fix them, the more I tried to talking to him, the more we fought, and the more unstable my world became. The rain got harder, and when the tornado came, I wasn’t prepared. I just wanted the storm to be over, for the rain, for the fighting to stop. I didn’t realize that getting what I thought I wanted, would result in me getting the wind knocked out of me. As the tornado hit me, I fell to the ground, and although I was gasping for air, no oxygen was reaching me. My body was shocked, and I couldn’t comprehend how something so perfect, had been destroyed, had left me lying on the ground, so bewildered I couldn’t even cry; no emotion left in me. My life had no purpose, he was gone, he had taken everything away from me, and I no longer had my rock to keep me lifted. So I just laid there, wondering how I was ever going to get up again, trust again, love again.