Don’t you dare give in. ☝🏽️☝🏽☝🏽☝🏽I know what you’re doing, you’re testing yourself and pretending you don’t know that. Everything you’re doing, you’re walking the line because you want to be 👌🏽THAT close.
Stop. ✋🏽✋🏽 Give it up. Give up already. You better rip that heart out. 👺👺👺Isn’t Big🐗Bear🌵🌟 the most annoying man? Isn’t he just the worst thing to come to town? That man sees the world through nobody’s eyes but his own and you’re falling apart over him!!
Quit writing to pretend you’re working this out in your head. Quit writing looking for comfort to distract you from your reality. You put your hope on repeat, rising each day an optimist only to wear out and drown in disappointment. That man did not love you, and you can’t force yourself to cry about it anymore.
Wisdom and the things you’ve learned empirically are ENOUGH to show you that he does not care. He’s not at home contemplating speaking to you. He’s not wondering if what he did was the wrong choice. He’s not asking his friends for advice. He’s not thinking about you at all!
Why do you think he forgets you all the time?
Stop torturing yourself. All you’ve done is manufacture fears and scenarios. Constantly talking to yourself and playing out the roles. Your words won’t change anything. Every sentence you string together is a waste of time…
Nothing is changing. He is not your lover. He is not your friend. He may have been once, but he isn’t anymore. If you start to realize that he was never real… You’ll notice that he will disappear from your world, as if he was never there in the first place… And you’ll feel
better for it.
I’m writing about this so much and I’m ashamed that I’m doing it.
I put so much emphasis on something that has little hope. I read what I’ve written and so far it always makes me cry. 💧💧💧
But day by day…
I have to wait longer for the tears to fall. 😔😔😔😔 I’ve noticed now, by the second time I read of my heartbreak, I’m reluctantly robbed of any emotion. I write more, wanting to feel more and I suppose the tears that blur my vision and the ache I feel through my chest, out my back, is close enough to what I wanted.
To feel reassured that this was real, what I felt was real… What he and I felt together… because I am so afraid to realize that it wasn’t.