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there are things in my life, i couldnt let him find. and because i hid from him, he went to find somewhere else that was open space. and he found her. and before he decided to close the chapter on me, he was skimming ahead, flipping back to trick me into thinking i had pages and pages left. i only had a few. and each night when his voice trailed off and the silence became unbareable, i finally cracked. i cubmitted my own down fall so that i couldnt be hurt when i found them together. i scratched out my own ending so his could be happy. now i found a new book, but im still gun shy. i hate this.... its not fair to anyone that im so empty.