“Cause lately I’ve been waking up alone.”
He broke your heart, and for that, you know you’ll never forgive him. You let defenses down, dropped your guard, let him see the real you…and he shat all over that trust. You suppose it was partly your fault, for being so guileless- but either way, the wound is fresh. The hurt is raw.
“Pain splattered tear drops all over my shirt.”
You hate him, you know you do. You loathe every cell, every tissue, every organ in his shameless, uncaring, unfeeling body. You cannot stand the sight of that filthy excuse of a human being, of a man. That little rat. How was it that you thought him an angel? How was it that you defended his every single action, even though the lie-ridden excuses scalded your mouth as they came out? How can you bear the memory of yesterdays, the innocent times, the paddling about in the warm, safe, familiar shallow end? Now, gasping for air in the middle of the dark ocean, grappling for something to keep you afloat, you remember the days in the shallow water, and you want nothing more than to die.
‘Maybe I should let you go.”
Does he think of you, as you do of him? Do memories torment his soul too, keeping him up at night, drowning his pillow in salty tears, filling his stomach with a hollow despair that no amount or flavor of food could replace? Does he, too, wish everything could just go back to the way it was?
“It’s been a while, but…I still feel the same.”
You must forget him…you must not contact him. At all. The no contact rule…it’s the surest way. Your hands itch to send a meaningless WhatsApp text message, and you cuss out loud at the air and delete his contact number. But you are in a number of chat groups together. Does he realize your pointless, silent torture? Does he even care?
“Give me love, like her.”
You want to hate her, but you know your body may never recover from it. You want to be the bigger person….you want to be the mature one. But you can’t be. The same familiar feelings of anger and ill usage creep up, slowly but steadily, whenever you see her. How could he…how could she…how could they…? The bitter rage of betrayal in your chest is almost suffocating. It is suddenly replaced by all consuming melancholy. A dull ache in your disconsolate heart. I am not good enough. I never was. I am not pretty enough; interesting enough. I never was.
“You’re the only one that knows I lied.”
You lied. Through your teeth. You said you were fine…you lied. You watched them hold hands, exchange looks, go off together. And you said you were fine…you laughed it off, occupied yourself with your friends, did not notice, put on a smile…you lied. You saw everything. Every image was a blow to your already fragile ego, and you had to close your eyes and sigh to repress the sob that threatened to rear its ugly head every time. You lied…you were not fine. You wanted to scream, to be avenged, to make them feel even a fraction of what you felt. You lied through your teeth, as the sight of them made you die inside.
“It’s not a good look; I need some self control.”
You hate that you are so emotional. God, you are so soppy, so sentimental. You hate that this is affecting you so much more than you know it should. You wish you were calm and calculating; never letting anything faze you. Why can’t the easy detachment and professionalism you apply in all other aspects of your life spill over to this one too? You want to forget him- you would give anything to forget him. The bastard. But you care for the bastard. And you hate yourself for that.
“..Thinking all love ever does is break,and burn and end..”
You schedule a lunch with him on Friday. What will you wear? You know it does not matter, but the thought occupies your mind. It keeps you from remembering that this is the first time you have seen him in 3 months, keeps you from letting your fiery hopes rise from the ashes. He is going away for a long time…that’s it. That’s why. It’s a perfectly reasonable request. You will stay professional. You won’t break. You owe that much to yourself.
You won’t let the truth leak out.