I don't know this feeling.
This fluttering in my stomach,
This anxiously awaiting a message,
This feeling of mutual respect
And care.

I don't know this feeling,
Being told not to feel bad
Or told not be embarrassed.
Being told that I am endearing,
Not insane.

Of someone looking forward
To speaking to me,
To seeing me,
Asking if it's okay
If they contact me as soon as they can.

Warning me that they'll be busy,
So they won't be able to respond a lot,
But that they'd still like to hear from me.

Because apparently I am
"Sweet and cute."
And "absolutely gorgeous"
And "completely awesome".

Because apparently I have a
"Good heart,"
However scarred I believe it to be.

My therapist says
You cannot go from loving someone
To disowning every memory of them
In two days.

My therapist says
I was in love with the memory of the person you were,
Not the angry monster you've become.

And even though I hate that I started falling out of love with you
Very rapidly
Mid February,
And I only gave you parts of me to convince myself otherwise,
And even though I hate that part of me will always love you,
I am so glad that I have grown to see your faults,
And that your funny-face selfies
Are not longer endearing,
But irritating.

Deleting your pictures off my phone
Was painful,
But once it was done,
The freedom was so good and pure.

I do not regret loving you.
But I do regret not being the one that left you,
Instead of you leaving me.

But you say
I am a monster,
And that is fine.
I am a hurricane of life
But monster is a nice word too.

And she says I was selfish,
I wish she'd look in a mirror.
She really needs to.

But he sees my worth,
My value
And likes seeing me.
Likes talking to me.
And it's not weird.
I don't feel the need to occupy all his time,
Because I don't feel like he'll drop me
The moment he finds someone "better".

I have so many things to tell you,
Most of which are how happy I am right now,
And the rest are telling you to *******.

I'll be sending you a package soon,
With your shirt and the ring attached to the necklace your mom gave me.
I'm giving the necklace back too.

There will be no letter.
No kind words.

Maybe a nickleback CD and a book on how to not be a ****.

But otherwise, nothing.

It is uncommon these days
To be satisfied and content with life.
Last night was the first night in a month that my insomnia got to me.
I was scared I'd wake up in a bad place when I finally slept.

I woke up, and after the nausea from the nightmares passed,
I received  a message from him.
And a simple apology and good morning and being told that I'm endearing,
Well it made me so much happier than you ever did.

Because there  was always some type of double meaning,
Some type of venom lacing your words.

He's upfront, and honest.
I don't quite understand how he makes me so happy.
Maybe it's because I finally like myself,
And he helps me figure out more ways to find good in me,
And you only ever made me see the bad in myself.

Your hollow apology for that goes unforgiven, by the way.

It is uncommon to be so much as satisfied
In this day and age.
Don't even get me started
On the rarity of the happiness
I'm feeling.