I didn’t know how long it would take, getting over you.
I still think about you every once in a while.
How could I not?
I think about the ugly break up, with harsh words and cruel intentions. The things you said to try and hurt me, the things I told myself to try and ruin you forever in my mind, make you guiltier.
The awful bitterness from both sides; the internal struggle between trying to make this as painless as possible and giving into the growing hate.
The feeling in my stomach like all those butterflies just died and are drowning me, from the inside.
The tension in the air, the replay of your face, your voice, your tears when you realized I was serious this time.
The relief of it being over, the thorn removed from my side; but not realizing the gaping wound that needed closure, that needed something I would never get because you could not be mature enough or kind enough to give me even that.
That feeling of how love had soured to a sort of disdain, an anger fueled by shatte