Feeling Your Pain
You once told me you loved me so much it hurt. So why am I the one in so much pain?
I feel like you know the real me—not the daughter, worker, student, poet. Just me. Plain and flawed and lovable.
I saw a future with you. Which is funny, since you left so you could have a good future.
You can no longer tell me what color to dye my hair.
We would laugh so much during sex. Sex with women much hotter than you has paled in comparison.
Not everything I do revolves around you, although I wish it did.
Nothing You Are
I’m not hoping for a guy who’s everything you’re not, rather, I’m hoping for a guy who is nothing that you are.
Shawarma With Me
I’m sorry I textually screamed at you for leaving. Please come back and eat shawarma with me.
When I asked you to come home this winter, I never thought that you actually would.
Double-Edged That Way
Every time you pop back into my head, I wish I wasn’t still in love with you. But thinking about you brings back the best memories. You’re a double-edged sword that way.
I forgive you.
Second Hand News
I knew I was over you when, in a my own mental game of “Would You Rather,” I chose tickets to a Fleetwood Mac reunion show over getting back together with you.
Whenever you were really upset you would always get a new tattoo, the size directly proportionate to the amount of pain you were in. The one I imagine you got when you lost me is a full body piece.
Not Picturing Us
I can’t bring myself to delete all the photos of us on my phone. So I just don’t look at the photos on my phone anymore.
What Was Left
It was the best thing for both of us, but I think when I left you I left the best sex I’ll ever have.
The fact that you are still hung up on me after eight years is both incredibly creepy and intensely gratifying.
The other night in bed he said “you have the prettiest feet.” I was shocked, you always teased me about how ugly they were.
Did. Don't. Stop.
I did love you. I’m sorry I don’t anymore, but please stop being an asshole.
For that Moment
I like to think that when something reminds me of you—a song, someone’s cologne—it means that you are somewhere being reminded of me, and for that moment we are together again.
I ached in places I never thought existed when you said you never loved me.
What you called your wittiest comment ever was the most offensive thing I’d ever heard.
Maybe I am just a big nothing, but once I was your nothing, a sweet nothing even.
You weren’t ready to commit to everything you promised me.
When we’d walk beside each other and my hand would knock against yours, you’d grab and hold it. “Saftey precaution,” you’d say.
Every day of that week in Utah, I’d listen to you say good morning to the trees.
Some Other Time
I don’t mind that we aren’t speaking right now, and losing touch. Because I think I’ll get to know you again, some other time. And it will be better. I hope.
Sometimes I wanted to squeeze you until there were just little bits left. It’s creepy, I know, but I still do.
How is it I’m still not over you when it’s obvious you’re so 2009?
One Solid Minute
Can we please hug for one solid minute?
I can only stand so much loser’s loneliness before I get tired and give up.
I like the romantic idea of loving you until I die, but I still feel like a jackass…especially since you have someone to love and cuddle and these jerks around here only turn me off.
World Without Laughter
Ok, so she’s smart, beautiful, and saving the world one starving child at a time, but she doesn’t make you laugh the way I did. And can you really change the world without laughter?
We’d move the furniture to the sides of the room so we could dance like grown-ups. I’d put my hands on your shoulders and inhale the smell of sweat, rising from your skin like smoke.
What I Miss Being
I hate that you always date assholes…but I miss being the one you were married to.
I should have known when you offered me a Lemonhead.
Because of the Satan Thing?
I proudly supported you being in an Epic Satanic Black Metal band. Went to all your shows, even did your corpse paint. So why couldn’t you support or be proud of me…ever?
I miss staring at your medicine cabinet while I peed at your house.
I don’t miss you—I miss the person I was before you broke my heart.
Sometimes I just want to cuss you out ‘til my throat goes dry, but it feels like cursing at my inner child, and I can’t.
You were my first kiss. My first love. My first intimacy. My first cheating girlfriend. My first broken heart. My first regret. And my first thought every day.
Renaissance Unfaire! (apologies -ed)
I finally got to go to the Renaissance Faire. I loved everything about it, except for the fact that you weren’t there with me.
Saying It Last
You said “I love you” first. Why do I have to be the one that said it last?
I still have my old cell phone with your messages, saved in a drawer. I can’t bring myself to read them again, but I can’t delete them or throw the phone away, either.
If you’d ever walked in my shoes, I might not seem so crazy…especially when relating to you.
You promised you’d write me. Where are all my letters?
I have too many clothes that I bought only because I knew you’d like them.
The song you said reminded you of me is now in an insurance commercial.
I have a rule about not drinking when I’m sad. I haven’t had a drink since you left.
I think the neighbors miss hearing your name.
I’m fairly certain all your tweets are directed at me.