There are only two ways of which I know how to deal with the hurt.
The first way is simple.
Cry.

For months my cheeks have remained permanently stained with invisible tears. The constant rivulets have become so part of me, my friends have stopped noticing. They don't ask what's wrong anymore.
Bottle after bottle of water I force myself to gulp down. Not to clear my skin, or keep in good health, but in response to the dehydration headaches, caused by crying too hard
for too long.
I thought I ran out of tears to cry, just a few short weeks ago. I felt no pain when I spoke his name. I did not feel that familiar drop in my stomach when I saw reminders of what we used to have.
So you can imagine my disappointment when I awoke the next morning, my eyes betraying my gentle sleep, the dream of that boy still fresh on the movie screen inside my head. It's quite jarring to wake up in tears, alone.
Turns out what I had hoped was me moving on, was just one of those days where I feel absolutely nothing.
Empty and numb.