I wonder if a memory is something you have or something you’ve lost
I don’t wonder no more. About anything. Especially not about me and him. I occasionally remember, but that is it. The memory of a lost time, or time well-spent, depends on what mood I’m in.
I definitely don’t feel like I’ve lost something when we broke up.
I feel like I got my life back. Like I could breathe again. Like after all the pain and histrionics I can finally be free and try to fix myself.
All the brokenness inside me was, still is there, but now I can finally not care about someone accepting me, worrying about not accepting me, because I accept me the way I am now.
Mostly, not satisfied. And I don’t wish it all to be different, like I always wished it when he was around. I wished to be whole and better for him.
Now, I wish to be alone.
Now that I can breathe again.
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