Don’t let me know that you sit up in bed at night, wondering how I’ve been doing. Don’t let me know that you’ve drafted hundreds of texts that you’ve never sent out to me. Don’t let me know that you’ve started drinking more in the hopes of wiping the taste of my lips off of you.
She’s sitting in brokenness, soaking her shirt in salty tears. She’s pondering what went wrong.
I miss the who you loved me. The one who told me you would never let me go. The one who told me you would love me for all time. Until the day you died. Until the day you were buried.
It’s been three years, yet all I can ever see in my rearview mirror is your smile when you looked at me and your name forever written across my lips.
“I really just need to spend this time working on myself right now.”
You are still strong. You are still here. You are still you.
I am screaming out that you’ll never know what I had to go through. The therapy. The medication. The tears. The abuse. Yet you’ll only remember from your side.
Don’t fall victim to this idea of getting closure. It’s not going to help you. It’s not going to make anything easier. It’s not going to make the hurt go away. That’s for you to do.
Let me be clear. You don’t deserve my forgiveness. You never actually apologized for what you did. You brushed away your guilt and lies as mistakes of the moment, yet still tried to manipulate me into being available when you were bored or lonely.
It’s normal that you find yourself punching your pillow at two in the morning, feeling frustrated that the person who broke your heart has also found their way into the one time of your 24-hour day that your mind is supposed to be freed from thinking about them