I don’t care that you got into drugs for three months straight, or how much sleep you lost in that period. I don’t care that you went home and fucked that person and woke up at 6am hating everything about yourself, or that you smoked so much you sounded as though your lungs were giving out.
You’re not a bad person for the ways you tried to kill your sadness.
You’re just human, and being human means you need to survive and you do so whichever way you deem fit, fuck everyone else.
I feel weak sometimes.
I get lost in the memory of your eyes…
Eyes that I haven’t physically seen in who cares how long.
I get shaky and then my heart plummets to my asshole
because I haven’t heard your voice in however long,
but this isn’t the same pain I felt at the beginning.
No, not even close to the same ache
where I would scream to the moon,
begging for it to give me something
I lost before I even had the smallest grip on it.
This is nowhere near the same pain I felt when I would lose myself
in the words that you so selfishly chose to use…
Those words that would repeat over and over in my head to the point where I was sure you were screaming them beside me.
The hurt I felt went from betrayal to bitterness.
It’s the kind of pain where I am no longer missing you from my life,
but I miss the life I lost missing you.
You always said I was strong.
Look how strong I am now.
After all this time, I learned.
I finally figured it all out and I learned.
You can’t ruin me.
You don’t control me, and you never did.
You can’t fucking break me,
only I can break me.