The sterile scent of antiseptic always brings me back. It’s funny the things your mind clings to. Not his laugh, not the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, no, it’s the smell of this damn hospital room that drags me back to the beginning. Or maybe it’s the end, I haven’t quite figured that out yet.They tell me I need to talk, to process, to “let it all out.” So I’ll talk. But not to them, to you. You wouldn't understand, not really. You with your bright eyes and easy smile, you haven’t seen the darkness yet. Maybe it’s better that way.His name was Damien. Sounds like a fallen angel, doesn’t it? He was my fallen angel. We were young, stupid. Thought we were invincible, bound by a love that could conquer anything. Except it didn’t conquer, it consumed.He was… intense. Everything was a whirlwind. Passionate kisses that left me breathless, fierce arguments that shattered my heart, grand gestures that swept me off my feet one moment and crushing indifference the next. I was always walking on eggshells, never knowing which Damien I would get. But the highs… the highs were so intoxicating, they made the lows almost bearable. Almost.I gave him everything. My time, my dreams, my very identity. I twisted myself into knots trying to be what he wanted, what he needed. I lost friends, neglected family, all for the hope of a crumb of affection, a fleeting moment of approval.He’d build me up, tell me I was his everything, his soulmate, the only person who truly understood him. Then, with a casual word, a dismissive glance, he’d tear me down, leaving me shattered and questioning my own worth.I knew it was toxic, this love that felt more like a slow poison seeping into my veins. But I was addicted. Addicted to the pain, the drama, the fleeting moments of bliss that kept me clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, someday it would be different.It wasn’t.The details are blurry now, a merciful haze. A fight, harsher than the others. His words like daggers, twisting in my soul. Then… nothing. A blank space. I woke up here, in this sterile room, the antiseptic smell clinging to my nostrils, a constant reminder of the love that nearly killed me.So, no, I don't love him anymore. The love died somewhere between the apologies and the broken promises. What's left is a hollow ache, a gaping wound in my soul that may never fully heal.And that, my dear, is why you should never love anyone so hard that it kills you. Because sometimes, it does.