Broken into pieces that are barely recognizable, unfit to conform into a puzzle, she realizes that she no longer manifests the sharpness of the edges she once contained. He broke down her dazzling, detail-oriented, time-consuming picture, only to steal the pieces to himself; so now she stood there, bare and desolate, slowly diminishing, burning up in the sunlight that was supposed to nourish and illuminate her.
And she is reconstructing the skin of the third degree burns on her own, lost and helpless because she was so involved in him that she forgot to pay attention to those whom she has shared her roots with, those who made her blossom, not rot, who have watered and fertilized her enough to bloom into someone he fell in love with. She traded the happiness she could have continued having with them for anxiety, anguish, heartache, grief, and bare satisfaction that she can now remember having with him. Why do our memories prefer to have a tighter grip on the one "I hate you" over a million "I love yous"?
The longer she collected and stored the despair and anger, the more she witnessed herself wither away to a bitter deconstruction of her soul. She used to easily squeeze her last breath of kindness and happiness for him; forced countless smiles and sympathetic nods that wore her—wrung her—out until she began filling up with neglect and hate which spread like wildfire.
Day after day, the only way she would fall asleep at night is by imagining herself as an untroubled, delighted bird freed from its cage, thinking of all of the directions it can spread its wings in. When that moment came, she felt like she could finally come up for fresh air, her wingspan matching the outside of the cage—limitless—only to find out that she has forgotten how to fly on her own.
She had no one help her grow along the way because she traded her entire support system for a relationship, leaving her with nothing but worthless tears, dying heartbeats, and a faded love.
But she's been freed—freed from responsibilities and dedication but also freed of love—her other half no longer present, torn apart and never seen. Regardless of the hardships, he was her sun, until he became a supernova inside her weak arms which couldn't contain the explosion, the sparks of which left scars—a price for freedom. She thought she was left in darkness, but the truth is, she was lucky enough to escape a black hole, the gravitational pull of which sucked in her every sense of youthful exuberance for way too long. She's been freed.
