My teacher asked us to describe love. All the girls in the room laughed with glee at the thought of a beautiful excuse me pretty concept . Everyone went around the room and said my boyfriend is love, feeling like you only need them in your life, that one person in the world you think about over and over again it makes you feel giddy inside when they hold you , first kisses, the whole 9. He never had a name, he was the structure, the fiber, the essence of my being. He made me wake up in the morning with the flicker of his name scrawled across my phone screen, he made me fall asleep at night at the small whimpers in his snore. He held my hand , heart, soul and mind without a drop. He was my everything. He was the knife that got too deep, he was the rope I was too scare to knot, the scratches that left oops something bite me on my legs. I needed him to look at me even to feel recognizable, to feel breathe in my lungs. Everyone says this is positive but I never felt so much pain in my life. Well maybe I'm over analyzing the kisses, the deep hugs and the Instagram pictures but I though those were good. So I mixed giddiness and nervousness only to create anxiety when his name never made it to the phone, I couldn't breathe when he said he didn't want me because he was the Godly essence of my breathe. He controlled my life without ever asking. His deep hugs and hand holding represented more than pretty he meant that someone anyone hloved me. Now his snore sounds like slow sweet torment and hand holding only leaves me with unidentifiable bruises and shakes. His name was love. And I hate him to this day.