“You’re just one of them people. You know, 20 years from now my daughter may come home crying over a stupid boy. You’re the story I tell her. When she’s aching in bed and I’m running my fingers through her hair to try and wash away the pain, our story is what I’ll tell her. I’ll tell her how something so beautiful has the potential to become so ugly and toxic to the both of you. When she thinks she can’t live without him, I’ll tell her about our story and how I forced myself to heal. How getting out of bed was a mission. How breathing without you was a mission. When her skins burning from every part he touched I’ll tell her about how I scrubbed your hands of me in the shower as I was crying. And when she thinks she can’t ever move on, I’ll tell her about how 10 years ago I saw you alone in a pub whilst I was with her father, I’ll tell her how your eyes watered when our eyes met and how I replied with a gentle smile, because it was the calm after the storm. It hurts darling. It hurts so bad, knowing you love him more than anything and he’s too immature and childish to understand or even care and acknowledge that you’ll love him more than anyone possibly can in his life. But once you heal that hurt, you become an untouchable woman.
—a mix of my auntys story& my future