He was beautiful,
even when he doubted himself,
even when he felt ugly.

He was sweet,
even though he was shy,
even though he had trouble in reality.

He was a great artist,
even when
he didn't think so.

He was also an amazing writer,
the way he described everything,
the way he gave them personality.

I've tried to take it slow,
to take it comfortably,
only words were intimate

I would draw for him,
really sucky drawings,
but drawings that show how much i loved him.

When we broke up,
I understood.
I was okay if he wasn't ready,
and I thought we could still be friends.

But away goes the nickname,
away goes all the times we had together,
and away goes our secrets.

A side of me,
she tells me someone else had him do this,
but i know it isn't true.
I hope it isn't true.

The last time we talked,
I was ranting about someone.
Is that what provoked him?

Everything is wrong with me,
so i understand the reason
why he wouldn't love me.

The spark we had,
It just–
—vanished.

But why?
He meant something.
He was my reminder, my hope.

I don't undestand.
Why was the sweetest boy I have met,
the one who hurt me the most?

And why do I feel like he'll hurt me more?