Author of My Worth

With each passing day, we woke up with our backs further apart, with our emotions hundreds of miles away from each other. With each sunrise, I told myself it was only a phase and that this distance would fade away. But it didn’t, it only grew, grew so large that I could no longer see the shore and the loneliness of what we were sunk in. You took my love for granted. You pushed aside my endless sacrifice and your actions slowly erased my faith in myself. Was I unworthy? Was I too damaged to ever be loved? You stamped those thoughts in my head with each time you pulled your hand away, each time I kissed you and you turned your cheek. But on this day I said enough. You are not the author of my worth. You do not get to write another line in my story because the pen is mine. The lines you so carelessly scripted will forever stain me, but your handwriting will never be seen again. So with this, I say the end, not to my story but to the chapter you wrote.

 

-S. Annette

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