Expectations are flimsy, transparent little things. You can spend your whole life building an idea, a desire, only for the ground underneath to shatter and swallow everything up. Even you.
It's why the bottle you're cradling in your hand is the first of the night, but it's just another number in the seemingly endless amount of anything numbing. Vodka, rum, whiskey, wine, more, more, more.
You expected reassurances and phone calls. You expected patience and one day, some day, getting to live that life with him. You expected to "never say goodbye" to him.
But you didn't have to. He did it for you.
He broke everything for you.
Expectations are fickle things, aren't they?
*Edit: 11/24/12
Reviews would be lovely, m'dears. But please be gentle, this is my first time publishing anything I've written.