“I saw his texts get shorter, and his wait to reply get longer. The texts contained no trace of love, not even so much as proper punctuation. His excuses to not be with me became a trend, so often that eventually it was expected. No, he was not going to come to dinner. No, he did not know when he was going to be free. Sure, he was going to try. He always said that. I was no longer a priority. What little plans we had were canceled sparing only minutes; and I was replaced by a bottle, a pipe, and maybe another girl. I still gave myself reasons to believe otherwise, though. His actions were always justified by me; he had already given up justifying himself. I was fighting for something that was no longer there. But it didn’t matter. The thought of losing him scared me; sure he’d changed, but what if he changed again? What if he woke up one day and realized that I deserved his love? What if I woke up one day and realized that I deserved more than his love?”
— excerpt from a book I’ll never write
