Recovery

There’s something elusive about a one-sided break up. It’s like one day you’re together, you’re fine, and the next…the next you’re the farthest thing from fine. You’re sick inside because you still are madly and hopelessly in love with the person who broke you. The hardest part is knowing the last four months of our relationship we couldn’t even enjoy, you were in Spain, I was in America, and we couldn’t even be together…we broke up one week before you came home. When I hugged and kissed you goodbye in August, I was saying goodbye for Spain, not for good…if I knew it was for good…damn it I would’ve held onto that moment forever. I don’t know what I did, where it went wrong…I’m looking back, searching for the first signs of trouble, I’m looking for the first time I did something wrong, I’m looking for the time when I ruined this, where I doomed the whole thing. I can’t help but blame myself for your loss of feelings, I can’t help but think there is something I could’ve, should’ve, would’ve done differently if I knew it would come to this. I’m hurt. I’m so. damn. hurt. I’m left broken and having to recover, and the hardest part is that I know you’re going to be just fine. You’ll move on, forget about me, forget about this chapter, and I’ll be stuck on you, because unlike you, I’m still in love with you. I still love you, and you don’t love me anymore. Not only have I lost the love of my life, but I’ve lost my best friend…and you’ve come out on top, happy again, and rid of the nuisance that I became to you.

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