Five years. Five years of having fun and making memories. Each perfect day tinted with a golden light and filed away into a jar. Now seeing him walking away, his face painted red from anger. That jar is broken, the glass shards hurting me so much it makes it hard to think about anything but the pain. So much that I don’t even remember the tears spilling from my eyes and traveling down my face.

I tried talking to him again but his face is passive. His head tilted away from me. Giving me a clear indication that he doesn’t want to talk. So I stop. I stop talking to him. My heartbroken attempts at getting those five years back soon turn into silence. This silence is me saying i'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of having to tell him that I am worth it when he disagrees. My silence means i'm moving on. I'm keeping my dignity. I’m leaving that jar where it is. And I’m not looking back.