Open for Criticism

Some compare this pain to a sharpened spearhead lodged into their chest. Others, a bullet to the head. Those who experience the worst of it call it dying. They have the easy road.
He stared, constantly. I couldn't burn the ends or mend them. I couldn't do anything but endure his dirty stares, his snide comments. Remember that, some how, some way, it was my fault. It was by my hand that he had left, my actions that continually drove him away.
It had been perfect, the two years prior. We hadn't fought that often, we hadn"t had trouble. It was this damn sickness I couldn't shake, the reality of it all. I couldn't stop the perpetual word vomit of the moment, the sudden spill of accusations and names. The neverending outflow that continued to disturb my relationship with him. It wasn't just the average teen romance, or the average breakup either. This was that cliched "One", the Forevers, the Star after the Fireworks. He wasn't ordinary, or even extraordinary. But he was mine, and that was all that had mattered.
Until it ended.
When it ended, the pain collapsed in waves, racking my body with the constant cries for mercy. The spear was shoved deeper, the knife grew longer. There was no way to stop it from growing.
It wasn't the mere fact that he had left, or even that he was off having fun. I wanted him to happy, I truly, legitimately did. The problem was that I wasn't happy, I was in pain. And not by any action he performed. It was a bad situation come across at a bad time. If I had been in his situation, I would have done the same thing.
"Maybe when you get better," he insisted.
"Maybe when you're yourself again," he'd tell me.
He did nothing wrong other than be there. It was my fault that he was gone, my words that drove him away. It was my own fault. That drove the pain deeper, the guilt further. That was the hole in my chest, the breath escaping my lungs.
The fact that I did it.
I had no one to blame for my misery, no one to blame for him leading me on. I had no one else but myself.






This was supposed to reflect thoughts on what the modern tragic hero is. Tell me if you think it fits the prompt, if it's good, sappy, whatever. If it sucks, tell me. If you can advise on how to improve, please do. Thanks