She

She was sitting by the windowsill, watching as the rain poured outside. Inside, she was swallowing the tears and the cries that were trying to crawl up her throat and out of her mouth. She was being careful. She really was. She didn't want him to hear how his words had crushed a part of her already dying soul. 

She wiped off the tears that had escaped her face and went back to how things were, reminisced the times when she was happy and saw how his happiness was hers.

She gave everything: her heart, her soul, her body. There was not a single inch of her that she held back from him. Every single night, he would tell her that whatever he received, she was sure to receive too. From the tip of his hair down to the edges of his skin, he said she had him. He was hers fora long time and she was his... until now. Even until now when her heart was shattering into a million pieces, she is still his.

She breathed misery and exhaled resentment. It was not a place she would ever wish on anyone. Her lungs would constrict as if every vile words slipping from his lips were chains he threw around her that were slowly constricting to stop her from breathing the love that he used to give. Every gentle caress was a double edged sword which slices through even the calloused parts of her which she had hardened against him. A single poke from his rough fingers was enough to shatter her heart built on a foundation of sand castles. 

She slowly put her head against the windowpane, wondering how much more can her fragile heart take from this broken relationship. She was hopeful about it, she was sure of it at the beginning. She thought he was the one that would alleviate the loneliness she felt, the misery and the brokenness left by a past love. She thought the sweet tender kisses and the honey-coated words were all she would ever need in her life. But boy, how wrong she was. Because for every sweet tender kiss, he was sure to give a hundred cut to the heart with every harsh cruel word and deed.

She was trapped, she was sure of it. She was tired, she was certain of it. 

She was a prisoner who built her own cell. A dead woman who built her own casket, arranged her own funeral and buried her own self into this sham of a relationship. 

But she made this choice, she was sure of it. 

She chose to stay, of that, she was certain. 

Yet, she had to ask herself, is she choosing him or is she choosing her?