I stayed with him for seven years.
Others say that I am good-looking and have a good figure. People chasing me line up from the street to the end of the alley.
But I hanged myself on his cold tree.
He is always cold, talks little, and has no warmth in his eyes.
I brought him breakfast, waited for him to get off work, kept him out of trouble, and stayed up all night when he was sick.
He would simply say "I know", "Leave it there" and "You don't have to worry about it".
I thought that as long as I was good enough, long enough, and partial to him enough, he would always look back at me.
I am the person he is most comfortable with and the person he cares about least.
He is used to my existence and my bottomless accommodation. He is confident and never cherishes me.
He doesn't know what liking is, let alone how to love someone.
Until that day, I packed everything and put the keys in the entrance hall.
"I left and I won't come back."
He didn't even raise his head, just hummed.
The moment I closed the door, I actually cried.
Seven years, fed the dog
Purpose: Essay