You miss being carefree. Not giving a damn. When you didn’t know what sadness felt like. You miss not knowing what pain was. What loss was. What longing was.
I thought we were going to make it, all this time I felt so sure of it. And then you told me you didn’t feel that way, that you didn’t know if there was room for me and my heart shattered.
I have a confession: I am a reality TV junkie. I’m in recovery, and currently, I’m only really following two shows: America’s Next Top Model (no shame) and, what is easily the best show on TV, MasterChef Junior.
Life after death isn’t the afterlife; it’s our life. It’s our life after the death of a loved one.
You were mine for a heartbeat.
Repeatedly do one or any combination of these and you’ll be sure to end the relationship in no time, or your money back guaranteed.
I chose to do what I love rather than what would be most likely to secure a job or what would make the most money. For this decision I am punished daily.
We could have been civil. But you were not civil, were you? You played the long con. You were in it to win it. And win it you did.
What am I saying? It’s in my bag. Of course, let me just dig around in here. Well, I don’t feel a twenty. Stop. Let’s do this logically. I’ll just dump everything in my bag out on the table. There’s my lip balm, oh that’s where I put those headphones, now if I could just find—no, it’s not in here either!