Jan 2013
August 14, 2012
When I see you, I will play nice.
I won't tell you how, when we talked that Saturday four days after you left, I ran away from home and my mom couldn't find me for three hours.
I won't tell you how the first month, I cried myself to sleep most nights and I couldn't even bring myself to watch television because I couldn't stand seeing happy couples in shows because it hurt too much.
I won't tell you that now, no matter how badly I want to, I can no longer cry.
I won't tell you how I sought comfort in feelings that were never really there.
I won't tell you that the idea that I would soon see you completely consumed my thoughts since I found out.
I won't tell you I know exactly how long it's been to the day since you left, and that I still can't bring myself to delete the pictures of you on my cellphone, or how I saw that you deleted the ones of us off Facebook and that broke my heart more than it should have.
You might notice that I still wear your late mom's crystal bracelet, but I won't tell you how obsessively careful I am not to break it just because you asked me to be back when you still loved me.
I won't tell you how much it satisfies me that you're lonely and miserable. How your pain and regret is my personal revenge.
I won't tell you about the equal satisfaction I got when that girl who I was friends with told me you admitted it was about your mom, and the laugh I got out of the fact you said I was right.
I won't tell you how I see you slowly realizing I was the best girl you will ever have.
I won't tell you how sometimes, I ******* to my best friend, the one I told you I had no attraction to.
I won't tell you how the one day I had cuddling with him felt more right than the entire year I spent with you.
I won't tell you that, after you left and I ****** my ex, I always imagined he was you.
I won't tell you how I never forgave you for not coming to the hospital the day my Grandpa died and how I never forgave you for standing me up to go smoke up with your friend the day we had plans to hang out with mine and then lied to me about it, and I found out when I called your friend and asked if he'd seen you.
I might tell you that yes, you were a bad boyfriend, you're right.
I might tell you only a low scumbag of a person makes someone feel like their diagnosis is their fault.
But I definitely won't tell you that despite all that, I'm still in love with you.
When I see you, I will play nice.
I won't tell you how, when we talked that Saturday four days after you left, I ran away from home and my mom couldn't find me for three hours.
I won't tell you how the first month, I cried myself to sleep most nights and I couldn't even bring myself to watch television because I couldn't stand seeing happy couples in shows because it hurt too much.
I won't tell you that now, no matter how badly I want to, I can no longer cry.
I won't tell you how I sought comfort in feelings that were never really there.
I won't tell you that the idea that I would soon see you completely consumed my thoughts since I found out.
I won't tell you I know exactly how long it's been to the day since you left, and that I still can't bring myself to delete the pictures of you on my cellphone, or how I saw that you deleted the ones of us off Facebook and that broke my heart more than it should have.
You might notice that I still wear your late mom's crystal bracelet, but I won't tell you how obsessively careful I am not to break it just because you asked me to be back when you still loved me.
I won't tell you how much it satisfies me that you're lonely and miserable. How your pain and regret is my personal revenge.
I won't tell you about the equal satisfaction I got when that girl who I was friends with told me you admitted it was about your mom, and the laugh I got out of the fact you said I was right.
I won't tell you how I see you slowly realizing I was the best girl you will ever have.
I won't tell you how sometimes, I ******* to my best friend, the one I told you I had no attraction to.
I won't tell you how the one day I had cuddling with him felt more right than the entire year I spent with you.
I won't tell you that, after you left and I ****** my ex, I always imagined he was you.
I won't tell you how I never forgave you for not coming to the hospital the day my Grandpa died and how I never forgave you for standing me up to go smoke up with your friend the day we had plans to hang out with mine and then lied to me about it, and I found out when I called your friend and asked if he'd seen you.
I might tell you that yes, you were a bad boyfriend, you're right.
I might tell you only a low scumbag of a person makes someone feel like their diagnosis is their fault.
But I definitely won't tell you that despite all that, I'm still in love with you.
Sidenote* - These were my feelings in August and are not anymore.
