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Beautifull, what am I saying – gorgeous metaphore…If only he could see in the back mirror that I am there. Maybe, just maybe, he would stop the fucking car and stop the hurt!

It was him not fighting for me. I gave him the ultimatum and he let me walk away. I didn’t want a life separate from him, and that’s all he could give me. It’s like he is driving a car and I just want to be in the passenger seat. He’s locked the door and I have to hold onto the bumper. I am not even asking him to open the door for me, just leave it unlocked and say come in, but he didn’t do that. So I am hanging on to the bumper and life goes on and the car goes on, and I get really badly bruised and I’m hitting potholes. And it hurts. It really hurts. So yesterday I had to let go of the bumper. Because it hurts too much.

 

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