I’m tired of explaining to strangers not to come near me, because my misery does not take solace in company, and I’m worried that sadness can be contagious.
I’m never ready when our song comes on the radio, and I don’t know how we went from lovers to enemies so quickly. Now every love song reminds me of my failures and blaming him doesn’t make this easy.
I’m not searching for his replacement but no matter how many new people I kiss, I can never get the taste of him out of my memories. I asked my therapist how can I hate someone but still want to be with them, she said that’s just how love works sometimes.
I didn’t want to shake his hand and pretend we were mere acquaintances. I wanted to shake him into sanity and make him love me again, but that would be the very definition of insanity, wouldn’t it?
I should apologise for how long it took me to let go, but it’s hard to be sincere when I’m still grieving for what might have been.
I was preaching the truth, but he preferred the familiar chimes of his own beautiful lies, and I saw the smug satisfaction when he showed me his twisted definition of what made ‘a good man’. The truth is I saw a monster but fell in love with his rare brand of cruelty, and he left because it takes one to know one.
I remember trying to explain that my sadness was different to what he knew, and no amount of affection could erase these scars. I told him I was damaged goods, and he loved me anyway. He saw beauty in my pain and I grew addicted to his validation. We fed each other empty promises and he became my favourite drug.
I didn’t know quitting would be this hard.