So here I am. A ruin that still stands. A building with no inside left. A heart that learned to beat in her rhythm and forgot how to make its own.
She ruined me in the way she said “goodnight” the last time—soft, ordinary, final. Like closing a book she’d already finished reading. I didn’t know I was a chapter. I thought I was the whole story. she ruined me, deeper
Not because I’m weak. Because for a while—for one long, burning, beautiful while—the ruin felt like flying. And now that I’m on the ground, I know the truth. So here I am