She had safety mechanisms built into her personality, protecting her from being hurt by any outside force. When I met her, she let her guard down, became human. Our lust was mutual, and at the time, so was our trust. She let herself be beautiful, then.

We were apart for months and together for one. It was then that she refused to become weakened by love, fueled by a need to prove that she was strong. Most of what I said was incidental, a reaction to minor contradictions in her behaviour, and she’s held it against me ever since.

For a while during our time, we were on the same page, and it was written in one of the great romantic languages. But when she turned the page, she didn’t tell me, left me to figure everything out on my own. I read ahead, right to the end, and still, she wasn’t there. I never thought that she might have turned our page backwards.

She protected herself from being hurt by anything on the outside, and I wonder how old she’ll be when she realizes that she’s being hurt by what’s on the inside.