A bit of me died at the end of that sentence.
It's a clear reflection of tragedies in the world anyway. Someday, along the way, someone feels less confident. It snowballs, it goes uncheck.
Break ups happen today over a myriad of reasons. Sometimes we find ourselves rushing too quickly into something we don't comprehend... and woke up. The realist in us (who is usually asleep) screams that this is unsustainable. You can't live forever with a glaring mistake. A mistake so as to speak.
But then there are also those really tragic ones. When being love starts becoming a bane.
That's what the title's all about. Somehow somewhere along the way it fractures and dislocates. We feel sorry that we're being loved. Or maybe we don't believe it anymore.
A stubborn shade of grey impossible to erase.
It doesn't seem to go away. But it may if you left and carried it with you. And so that's what they must do.
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