It has been two weeks and three days since I last saw you. Four hundred and eight hours since you looked at me for the last time and told me you loved me. Emphasis on the past tense. It has been much longer than those twenty four thousand, four hundred and eighty minutes that I have known you are no longer in love with me. The one million, four hundred sixty eight thousand, eight hundred seconds separating us still are not a good enough representation of this distance. I lost you, I understand that. I lost you ten days ago. But when did you lose yourself? When did I lose myself? And where exactly did we go? (However, there is no “we” anymore).
In these timeless yet ever so slowly passing days, I have searched. Searched for the answer as to how you were able to scream at me through the telephone, but not man enough to show your face. The answer as to why you pushed the truest, deepest love straight from your arms, out into the abyss of utter solitude. The answer as to when that four letter word started to become nothing more than wasted breathes. And wasted time. And as I search, I heal. Contradictive, but inevitable. No longer are your hands around my neck inflicting involuntary pain and no longer am I able to kiss the very poison that nearly destroyed me. I am free. Sure, I may be in a state of oblivion but no longer am I the dirt you walk home on after betraying me with her. I was strong enough to stop drinking my own blood from your palms. Those filthy, sinful hands of yours that forgot, just for a second, the way they fit into mind. But one second can feel like a ******* eternity if you want it to, and you did. You let those hands feel her in a way you used to only do to me once your parents’ bedroom door was shut, and the light turned off. And you were never man enough to live up to it. Those sins, that ******* disgrace. “Hurting you is the last thing I wanted to happen.” I’m ******* sorry for believing you never would. You’re so good with words, did you know that? But are you so good that you’ll start to believe your own lies? ENOUGH WITH THE DISHONESTY. I stopped kidding myself a long time ago. You’re not mine anymore and I’m not yours!!! Yet I’m still so infatuated on you. This delusional, not-at-all you. I want to save you, but I saved myself instead. I’m seventeen days sober but eternally hungover. And as you can see, it’s a never-ending cycle. I’m running in circles contemplating all that you have done to me. The hour hand and the minute hand never meeting up. I am dizzy and I am broken and I am alone but I can finally breathe again.