You know, whenever I try to write something sad, I am reminiscing the moments when you broke my heart and threw it on the floor. I don’t know why; I think no one ever fucked me up like you. It has always been you.
I am feeling like giving you a trophy for ‘the biggest heartbreak – still’
Still. Even after all these years.
I think a part of our memories never goes away – it sits in the dark corner of our hearts, waiting for the right moment to suddenly appear (or by request – like I always did when I wanted something to write) and drown me into the phase where I could not breathe, nor open my eyes, because it really hurts, still, even after all these years.
People say who gives a fuck about their first loves and everyone should cherish the second love because it makes you believe in love again. The thing is, nothing compares your first, and usually biggest, heartbreak. That feeling when someone stepped on your perfect depiction of love and left you feeling betrayed by the concept of forever. Why do people love when it is going to end anyway?
I was a naive girl, moving out to the city, carrying your love only to watch you took back everything that was supposed to be my ultimate support system. Until now, I cannot help but wondering was it also hurt for you as well? Did you miss me like I missed you in every breath I took? Did you cry yourself to sleep like I did? Did you go to class with swollen eyes and lifeless body? Did you stare at your phone, wishing you could call me just to know what was I doing? Did you do things I did?
Did you know that I had many sleepless nights and I practically begged my friends to sleep over because I was too scared of being alone?
I guess you did not.
Those pains were too real to vanish without leaving scars, and I can honestly say it still haunts. It may not hurt anymore, but the memories are latched onto me and I cannot seem to breathe everytime it appears.
That is why you’d make such a good muse.
Well I guess, thank you is in order. And, also, fuck you.