I don’t want to bring up your shitty name right now.
You dumped me. Three days ago, one week shy of our 6-month anniversary. But who’s counting, right?
“I just don’t… feel that spark anymore,” was the best excuse you could give me. Makes me wonder what exactly it was you were feeling when you finger banged me two days before.
Just so you know, I’m at the angry phase right now. That’s actually the only phase I’ve experienced so far. It’s actually a toss up between devastating sorrow and I-want-to-fucking-chew-your-face-off anger.
And why in the world would I be so angry at you? That’s something you would ask. With those stupid, sad eyes. Like you have no fucking common sense whatsoever.
You took my innocence. My virginity. And months later, you told me you had no idea it was “that big of a deal” to me.
You knew how much I loved you. I seriously doubt you loved me. You used me up, and then dropped me because your feelings for me no longer stirred up visions of puppies and rainbows.
For five months you filled my room with your clothes, your pictures, your gifts, your scent. You filled my mind with sweet words and reassurance that you would never hurt me. You said I was the only person you truly cared about. You wove yourself into my life. You filled every empty crevice.
And then you tore it away. All of that time, all of that effort, all of the money spent, those akward first conversations, those hours spent on the phone, the love I invested in you- done. Pointless. Just like that, because you didn’t feel that “spark” anymore.
I’m hurting. A lot. I’m terrified of being alone for even a brief moment in my day. I pray for nothing but healing. I took all your things and stuffed them under my bed. I only cry in the car and in the shower. But I cry, more than I ever have. I’m vulnerable.
But you’ll never know that. You’ll never read this. That’s how I want it. I’m just going to dissapear, and it will be like you never hurt me.
That’s how I want it.