it’s you. || 3/4 i'm done writing about you.
four months ago - we used to fall asleep talking with each other on the phone if not in person.
earlier today - someone asked me if i still missed and thought of you.
i opened my mouth to say what i hoped was the truth, but nothing came out as i found myself at a loss for words.
i no longer knew how to talk about you.
i meant to say that i'm done missing you, and i'm done thinking about you, and i'm done talking about you,
but what came out instead was
n o t h i n g .
and it made me sick to my stomach with sadness to think about forgetting you, which was funny because you seemed to forget about me so easily.
it made me wish that i could talk to you, like we used to all those nights ago.
but then i remembered that i can't talk to you about my sadness,
because you're the reason that i'm sad.
and then i saw you with her again,
and i realized that i am not a whole person.
you shattered me like a beer bottle that you slammed against the floor,
and there are parts of me that you broke that still haven't been put back together.
i am not a whole person, and i am not sure if i ever will be again.
a part of me died when my heart fell out of my chest and splattered all over the concrete,
and i visit that part only in my dreams.
i saw you with her again,
and the parts of me that died ached for you.
but the sober rest knew that you were never coming back.
my 11:12 feeling was right - you really were gone.
but despite what you did,
both of these ruined parts still love you.
we are human.
we are messy, we are not perfect.
we break things, and we ruin everything that we touch.
including each other.
you played with me like i was just another thing for you to touch,
and you broke me in the process.
you ruined me.
and when i think about everything that happened between us,
everything that you did,
and everything that you didn't,
i fucking hate you.
i also hope that your sunset is just as pretty as the one i'm looking at right now wherever you went when you left me for her.
i have written so many of these fucking things,
just hoping that by some chance, you might see one and think of me,
but you haven't, and you're not.
i'm the one stuck in the past, and you're the one that is moving on.
and despite your telling me that it's time to move on as well,
i can't let go of this one, because i know that what happened happened because
i always loved you more than you loved me.
if you ever did, that is.
i'm done writing about you.
i'm done using the tears that you caused to water the dirt that you threw at me only to grow weeds from my heartache.
i have decided that i am going to water this dirt with every ounce of love that i have left in me, and i am going to make something beautiful grow from everything that you and everyone else has thrown at me.