I felt like I was drowning.

When you started to cry.

You crushed my broken pieces against you — my tattered flesh against your unscathed skin. I didn't understand why our broken parts puzzled together on their own, they didn't fit and maybe that's why it always hurts. Was this all happening because someone finally heard my prayers? Did you finally hear my pleads?

"I'm sorry."

You kept repeating that. Over and over and over again.

What you're failing to realize is that two words can't fix me. Two words can't make me forget the things you've done. Two words can't undo all those nights I slept barely breathing. Two words can't erase all the scars. Two words can't change a person from how they really are.

I can try. I can try to believe you don't really hate me. I can try to convince myself that none of us wanted that day to happen, for this to go this far. For you to destroy everything, and for me to be the reason why. I can try to act like nothing happened. Like that day, and all these months didn't happen.

But, I don't think I can.

I don't know if I'll ever look at you differently.