It’s been a month, a week, and one day since we broke up. The wound feels so fresh, as if it’s never going to scab over.
I’m trying to yell to you, tell you I need you. But, you’re refusing to think something is wrong with me.
I’m not crazy, and I know you never said I was, but I still have to convince myself that you don’t think I’m crazy.
Do you know of everything you left behind? I don’t even go in my own room anymore because where you wrote “I love Madison.” Is still there, plain as day. The pictures of us are still on my wall, my letters to you are still safely tucked in my journal. Everytime I drive pass the church, it makes me think of you. I can’t walk on my own street without remembering you walking with me, holding my hand, and laughing with me.
Do you remember when we walked the first time? We walked for hours, as slowly as possible. You walked me home, and walked me to my door. You let me hug you. And you told me you loved me, and for a very long time, you just kept your lips on my forehead, and when you had to leave, you looked at me and kissed me so softly it was as if you hadn’t even kissed me at all. But, the burn was still there, I felt dizzy, and dazed. It was the best moment of my life. The kind where everything freezes, where the only thing you hear is the own steady beat of your heart.
The perfect moment, the kind that belong in love stories.
You were the first person I told about my attempted suicide, and I was the first you told about your pot addiction. I helped you, and you helped me. And now you’re back to pot. Is that why you left? Because you chose pot? I chose LIFE. I chose the harder outcome, and you left me for some stupid addiction. I loved you more than that, I loved you unconditionally. I would have loved you just the same if you had done pot.
You promised me. You PROMISED. I promised you that I would be strong, and I am trying, for you. Because I promised YOU. You keep promises to the people you love.
Don’t even try to tell me you never loved me.