Moving On

No matter what I did, you were never happy. There was always room for improvement. You told me that I needed to be perfect, and it wasn’t until I starved myself to near death that I realized that the only way I could be perfect is if I was dead.

I’m fine. Even when I cry, even when I miss you, even when I’m alone, even when I’m scared, even when I see you looking happy in pictures — even when I know you don’t miss me, I’m still fine.

All of a sudden, you texted me. You texted me saying “Hey, just checking on you!” Why do you feel the need to check up on me when you’re the one who left me?