She was miserable all the time; she would be nasty and cold to me.
Now that I think about it, every time we had a fight, I would get even angrier. I wouldn’t just hug her or say nice things; I guess I had too much pride, maybe I wanted her to sympathise with me. Like hey, I’m hurt with what you said, maybe I needed you to be the better person and hold me?
Both of us took the role of wanting sympathy, but no one wanted to cuddle or hug, in a time where we both needed it.
She was a reflection of me. If I loved her the way she deserved, she would have done the same.
When I was the mirror looking at her, she was the beauty. When she woke up in the morning, she will see herself in me. When I was miserable, not attending to her emotions or showing purpose; that’s what she saw.
She didn’t see love, how was she supposed to reflect it back?
She wasn’t beautiful anymore because I had reflected what she didn’t want to see.