I’m over it, but I still think about you. And at least I’m willing to admit it.
I think about the way you broke my heart, and how long it took me to piece it back together. I think about the promises you made about our future, and how disappointed I was when you broke them. I think about the red flags I should’ve seen but chose to ignore with hopes that you were right for me, that the warning signs weren’t warning signs at all, but just me being scared, scared of love, of everything we could be, of everything you could mean to me, of everything we could mean to each other.
Boy, was I wrong. I should’ve trusted myself, trusted my instincts, because the warning signs were my head telling my heart that it was only a matter of time before you hurt me. And my head was right, and my heart was wrong.
Because my heart wanted to believe that the lies you fed me were true. They tasted so good against my lips and they tasted even better on the way down. And sooner or later those lies became my reality. And I had to live with the fact that someone I thought who cared about me, someone I thought who trusted me, potentially loved me, didn’t.
And it hurt like hell, and it took time for me to fully digest what exactly happened. Becuase you came into my life as quickly as you left it, and you stirred my life around and I began to change direction.
And when you disappeared, the pieces of yourself you left behind still lingered, and I hated that. In fact, they still linger, and I try to ignore them. I try to ignore the fact that when I walk past the place where you first kissed me, I immediately think of you. I try to ignore the fact that I saved one photo of you that I can’t seem to delete, and I tell myself it’s simply to serve as proof that you even exist, that we once meant something to each other, even though I know it’s because I want to remember you.
I want to remember the terrible way you made me feel, I want to remember that I never deserve to feel like that again. I’m over it, and I still think of you, but it’s because I finally understand that who you are now and who you once were to me, don’t matter, but the way you hurt me will serve as a constant reminder of the love that I deserve, the love that you never showed me, the love that someone else will.