You do it so that no one can see it but you. The words slice layers, first the skin and then the muscle and then the bone. You see that she’s broken, but you turn your back anyway.
Tears fall like blood. Not just for a moment. Not just for a minute. Not just for an hour. But for days. You do nothing to stop the bleeding.
You see her hide the hurt with a smile, a band-aid on a gunshot wound.
You don’t even look her way.
You avoid eye contact.
And then you do it. You finally just walk away.
You think that she’ll heal just fine. You think that she’s strong. You think that she’ll welcome you with open arms once again.
But you just don’t know. You think she doesn’t know.
But the truth is that she does know. A girl always knows.