Unraveled and unmended

I am the torn fabric. The frayed edge. The thread that snapped mid-stitch. The seam that never held.

I have asked the question over and over: how can she live with herself? How can she focus on a new girlfriend when my life has been shredded beyond repair? She had to tear mine apart to build hers, and I’m the one left holding the loose ends.

I can’t eat a full meal or sleep a full night. I can’t work, or focus, or date. I barely exist between panic and exhaustion. Every corner of my life feels half-lived, like I’m watching myself through a window I can’t open.

I tell myself not to care — that her choices shouldn’t define me — but my body still trembles with the remembering. There are holes where promises used to be, ragged spaces no apology could ever fill.

I want her to answer the questions that keep me awake — not because I expect truth, but because I need something to sew my healing to. Her silence stretches like an unfinished seam, and I keep tugging at the edge, hoping something will finally hold.

I thought I had already hit rock bottom, but grief has layers — you can fall through one and still find another waiting. I am lost, scared, and unprepared to stand alone in this new version of my life.

There will come a day when I can pick up the pieces. But tonight, I sit among the threads — unraveled and unmended.