3 years in the making… 

He sits on his slightly bent wooden chair as he drinks the last of this six pack of Stella Artois, as if it mattered what the drink ever was, staring at me with those soft light brown, watery eyes.  As he puts the beer down on the table he turns and asks me,

 “why?” 

Unable to think of the best answer, 

“Because it’s for the best.. For me.”

 Realizing only after the words had spilled out of my mouth like gas, that it burned. I see the pain and the hurt as tears slowly roll down his left cheek, followed by his right. 
I remember this day like it was yesterday, I remember the way I walked out of his house and felt the cold of his hands as it slipped out of mine. Turning around only to see a broken, battered, beaten man face down on his wooden table, remembering only the hurt I decided that even though it was eating me alive from the inside to leave him  like this, I had to.  I am worth something, I am a woman, I need to be appreciated. 

Put the beer down long enough to look me in the eyes and see the hurt you cause. Maybe then you’ll leave it down long enough to love me. 

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