Looking down at my feet, I feel myself shrinking, my body slowly falling like a feather through the air to the ground. Pain stains my face through the drops of sizzling lava climbing their way down an erupting volcano, disintegrating into the ground as if there was never any trace of them. Like there's never any trace of me.
I stare down at the crumpled letter, the page torn down the middle from where my anger took control first. The cursive writing has now blurred into the page from my tears and the words that left me broken, no longer visible.
Why did you do this to me?
Hands shaking, I feel my body physically heaving in pain, vibrating through my deafening cries. My sobs shatter the windows, cause the house to crumble, my mind blowing out of proportion in what seems like power, but is only anger. Nothing leaves my mouth.
Screaming for help I feel myself falling apart, brick after brick of a house ripped out from it's structure, like my emotions are torn out of me. Your words shatter me as if a drill is trying to repair my damaged bricks, my unrecognisable emotions. But there's no way to build back a broken house.
There's no way to build back me.