She's gone.

She's left me in the wake of my own destruction, managed to do what countless women before her had wished they'd been able.

I sit fuming on the concrete stairwell to her apartment, praying to god she comes home so I can explain my actions. As inexcusable as they may be and how despicable the lie I was caught in, she has to hear me out. Otherwise, what was the point of any of it?

I couldn't begin to tell you why she, of all women, was the one to snare me. Maggie was wonderfully chaotic, incredibly stubborn, and so God damn challenging.  She tested me every day, made me work to be with her, work to be better, but she was worth it. She was lost in her own fragile world but would never let anyone see through the tough exterior smile she'd learned to hide behind, until me.

Until I managed to break her free of the constructs society deemed acceptable behavior. I managed to wriggle my way past her wall and engrave myself into her world, only to obliterate it all with a few pointless lies.

There are three sides to every love story, even ours. Maggie's side, my side, and reality.

Despite the inescapable fact that none of these perspectives can exonerate my fuckup, I'm here to tell my side of it.

-Jackson