…that’s the thing with the unrequited love
You can actually feel the power imbalance in your bones…
They say rise above, be the bigger person, ok, done!
Will that bring them back? Will that explain the scrunchy and blonde hair I found in his apartment? Just know, there was a before, and this is the after. Am I going to eat at a normal speed like a normal person? What about my hair? What about those 5 months I don’t remember? What about all the men I am trying to forget? Self-harm disguised as sexual empowerment! What about all the regret? regret. regret. regret.
Let’s face it,
you don’t just get over it — not when you know that, in those moments when you were fighting for air in a loveless apartment, he was sleeping with some random marketing girl from work. It probably happened in his bed, probably on my side, and likely offered her a glass of water afterward. Just good manners, he’d say. right. I remember.
So much misery,
that flatmate of yours, she got annoyed that you asked her to turn the music down, on that day when he left, when all you needed was just a little bit of quiet. Everything was so loud, so loud...You couldn't eat for 3 weeks after that. Your sister said you weren't really there for like a year — the aftermath of losing someone dear. (That) your own goddamn sister wasn't able to console the inconsolable. Even your father heard about it. He doesn't ask too many questions, but that time he did.
And yes, ofc, technically, it wasn't cheating, but spiritually — spiritually it was death. Who cares about the soul when the law is on your side, right? Will that send me back to a time before the scrunchie? Will I trust again? All that love…wasted
only to fuck a marketing girl 🙂
Tell me again it was just a breakup
I dare you, tell me I should be fine by now. Tell me it was all in my head. Tell me it wasn't supposed to break me, not like this, maybe just a little bit, for like a weak, that sounds like a reasonable amount of time to get over something that wasn't that deep.
It wasn't supposed to last. It was something you aren’t supposed to talk about, like ever — something misunderstood (by me, ofc). I misread them, the signs, burning in the sun, looking like flowers in mid-August.
Tell me I am wrong
for taking too long to heal
for crying
for crying
for crying!
There is no point in waiting for an apology
because
well, for starters, it’s never gonna come
you are now the villain in their story, in fact, you’ve abandoned THEM, you controlling and manipulative witch!
It’s just a breakup.
Time will heal. What an asshole, they’d think, but never say. He’s never even met any of your friends(!) – I met his. It was almost like I was living his life. He didn't like sleeping in my bed; or taking the metro to work (my place was TOO far); or even going on walks; or watching something I liked, because all of my shows were STUPID (he still laughed at the jokes), and looked at me from above — a tall man he was, indeed. I was supposed to watch something more intellectual (more performative, perhaps) like all the shows he watched. He adored me for being myself, but in the end, that was exactly why he resented me. Like, why are you so honest with the world? Aren’t you ashamed of yourself like the rest of us? Be less, be less, be less!
Truly, it wasn’t even that deep
and yk, crazy chicks swallow
so that’s that
breadcrumbs, cum, and all that anger — because: different expectations, he said; he's not ready, he said; he wants to fuck around, he said; new york, he said; it didn’t work out, he said; I am another crazy ex, he said, hence the mirage.
that’s the thing with the unrequited love
you can actually love someone forever when they don’t love you back
airing dirty laundry on the internet, as if I wasn't a clean freak
perhaps that's the point — I need a cleanse, yet all I have left are words and moral injury.
The last 3 letters of the spring 