I admit it, he was the one most skilled at sending kites high into the sky, yet the first to give up when the wind fought back. He could climb trees, but always with a but. But his feet were dirty. But his grip was weak. But his love was never whole. He was the one most skilled at making me walk as if across shattered glass, while he himself never had to stand on tiptoe. He was skilled at pointing fingers until I covered my face in the darkness of a courtroom built for judgment. He became the one most skilled at wearing a mask of lies that blinded me. Maybe it was a thrilling game for him, but I cried a river. Every memory we made has now turned tragic. It felt as though we had almost reached the finish line, yet my feet were floating, unable to land. I could smell failure from afar, but I denied it again and again, exhausting myself until I was gasping for air. His mistake knocked me out of my doubts. Fate was kinder to me it knew my future would be fragile with him, so it awakened his heart and forced him to confess his sins. Our promises shattered. He looked like the perfect picture of a husband, but he was only a con man. It was my first time falling so hard for someone who did not fall harder for me, and that pain reached my soul. I was devastated, but it is better to become a kite set free above the sky than to be held by hands whose honor has already collapsed. I can still wander through the world. I still want to dive into sorrow and happiness, to discover who I am before and after him, the one most skilled at breaking everything inside me.