26 July 2015.

I stopped living the day I discovered I was alone. He was still there, his clothes shared the locker with mine, his masculine scent still on the bed we shared.
But he didn't love me and I was alone.
He didn't notice me anymore, not when I started wearing make up or when I started wearing long weaves. He didn't drop a compliment even when i got alot of those from colleagues at work or even his friends.
He was absent. Silent. And that killed me. In the most unbearable way possible.
Her name was Sharon. He spent alot of time with her and when he was with me he spent it texting her.
He noticed everything about her.
Today he was texting her again. I was writing in journal. Something I began doing alot since the silence in the apartment seemed to be eating me up from the inside.
"What are you always writing in that your dumb book?" He asked uninterested,  taking me by surprise regardless.
I held out my open diary and he read out the words that have been fighting with my lips to be voiced out.
"I hope for a day that I would write and my words would bewitch you, hold you down like a spell, make you mine. I hope for a day you wouldn't want to leave, not for her big tits or her light skin. I hope for a day your soul would be fettered to mine, bound in deep devotion, blood vessels entwined together, destinies merged. I hope for a day that I wouldn't have to need you, because you would be mine. I hope for a day your silence wouldn't make my heart palpitate and leave me broken, struggling to breathe, struggling to live."
The look in his eyes told me I was late. That he had left a long time ago.
I took my book and started scribbling again.
"Where do heart breakers burn? They steal souls, making living impossible. Living will feel disorienting, like wearing a shirt inside out. It is like murder. And murderers burn."