Struggling to get over someone. (Trigger warning: mentions of self-harm and drug use.)
|Winter came to the Pacific Northwest as quickly as you packed your bags and left me.
I can’t believe I’ve stooped to this:
Itching to get drunk at noon;
Craving nicotine before food when hunger pangs arrive.
They say grief is a process.
But the books never say when, how, or if it ever gets better.
Cutting myself has even stopped numbing the pain.
Smoking weed with my best friend just reminds me of when you told me how you puked from taking too big of a drag off a joint.
The self-harm scars just remind me of your fingertips gently stroking my arms; the most tender touch that I thought I’d ever felt in my life.
Hell; vaping even reminds me of the time we kissed and you blew the vapor into my mouth, and I blew it out reluctantly; because I didn’t want you to ever go.
Here’s the truth, Roman: I’ll never stop loving you.
Even though you blatantly lied when you said you didn’t want to date in your first year of college -- you now have a boyfriend.
Even though you think I’m some toxic drug that you mustn’t ever touch again.
I can hear you now, telling me that I “matter so goddamn much” to you.
If I mattered that much, why was throwing me out like garbage the “best choice you’ve made”?
I’ll bet the Winter snow coming down on Spokane, Washington is now reminiscent of your ice cold heart.
And I’ll bet when I return, our “friends” will tell you,
And the three of you will gossip endlessly about me.
I have no reason to believe any of what I’ve said is false--
But, Roman, your absence in my life feels fake.
And if you tried to come back…
I wish I could say I’d break out in song, telling you “I Will Survive” without you.
But quite honestly, I’d probably let you back in my life.
I’d open the door, and tell you you’d be welcome no matter what.
You were the only constant in my ever-changing life for two years.
Roman, if I knew you’d cause me this much heartache, I’d have avoided you like the plague.