Unrequited love, cruelest of all.

There was something in his gaze. Something deep and raw. The way he looked at her. I got it then. He loved her, and it was killing him. He wouldn’t get over her, I whispered, he can’t.”

‘When I had no choice but to become an adult…’

When do you become an adult? At 16, 18, or 21? Is it when you get your first job, when you get married, or when you have a child?
Honestly, I don’t remember when I became one. Maybe at the age of 9, when I started staying home alone , looking after myself & my house when my parents went to parties and gatherings

“…better left unsaid”.

How do I tell him that I don’t write anymore because it’s him. On my mind. All the thoughts. All the damn time. That even when I try hard to write something new, something people could relate to. I end up writing about him.