When we first met, you were broken. Your eyes were empty; there was no life there. Your skin was torn. You had marks on your wrists. I thought I could fix you. I wanted to. I could see through all your pain. I saw just how beautiful you were. You made me so happy, at first. You were all I could talk about, think about, dream about. You consumed every part of me. I was okay with it. I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

Then it got cold. The weather got cold, you got cold. You froze me out. You told me I wasn't good enough. Of course, you never directly said those words, but your message was clear. That's okay. You didn't want me. I couldn't help that; neither could you. We didn't talk. For a long time I wondered about you. I had nightmares. I saw you hurting yourself. There was nothing I could do to stop it. I worried everyday about you.

I found you again. It looks like you finally see the beauty I always saw in you. Someone fixed you. I don't think it was me. It might have been some other girl. It might have been yourself. I don't care. I'm just happy you are okay. I see life in your eyes. I see light in your smile. I haven't seen your wrists, but I bet the marks are healed. I'm so happy that your soul has been glued back together.

The problem comes when I look in the mirror. Now I see your eyes instead of mine. The empty ones. I look at my thighs and my skin is torn like your wrists used to be. I lay in bed and I feel something missing. I used to stay awake just to be there for you when you couldn't sleep. Now I like awake and wish that I had someone who cared that much. I may not have fixed you, but I know you broke me.