I held on. Held on when my hands had long since been shaking, when my bones ached from constantly bouncing back. Held on because I believed that's exactly what love meant: stretching, shaping, bending, until the other person was satisfied.

Every pull took a little more from me. Every time you pulled harder, I swore I would endure. For you. For us.

Until that one moment. The pull was too strong, too sudden, too merciless, and the sound of the ripping was louder than my heartbeat. Then I knew: I will never snap back into your shape again.