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To The One Who Separated Me

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Today, I am sitting in a eatery. The one that became our date recognise- the usual, the go-to.

Today, I sat and told the recipes you and I used to enjoy- they taste different now. I wonder if you know that.

Today, I loiter back on the days, hours, times, seconds, that havent paused to wait for me to heal, that have floated past as I abode stagnant in the same place, the same hour, the same numbness I appeared the moment I marched out your door.

Today, I wonder what I was doing on the working day a year ago. Was I wrapped up in your forearms? Was I listening to messages glazed with sugar spill out of your opening? Was I smiling at you with that smile I havent tattered since I left? You, who showed me why passion hadnt attained sense before “its with” you. You, who took me higher than I had ever been, and established me brand-new statures, You, who knocked me down just as numerous pegs- You.

Today, guess of you, contemplates of what you did creep into my brain like parasites; they crawl into my frontal lobe and hammer their posts down in the clay. But restraint that to today would be an understatement, wouldnt it? Everyday, I am devoured, plagued, frozen by the idea of you. Any person who could connect with me the path you did, any person who could slaughter that connection in one speedy ten-strike- the direction you did.

Every day, I indicate back to the morning you text messaged me in your cowardice- very scarcity of a respectable human being to at least call, let alone said here today to my face. I recollect my thumbs shaking as I handled what you were actually tell people, your words reeling off my cornea like knives –

Im sorry baby, It was a mistake, I didnt mean to, it intended nothing to me.

Every day, I beset myself like this, never giving the weave scab over, ever rending it back open with salt extended claws. Taking myself through the working day, time by minute, deconstructing every second like a stop motion living, as if that will help me understand anymore than I already cant. Will I ever actually understand?

Every day, it culminates to this. I am left with the residues of the person I used to be, the person you facilitated generate, the person or persons you tore down with those very same hands. The person or persons fell more profoundly, too quickly into a serious affair but was so entirely satisfied with the affection she was given, who wanted good-for-nothing more than to expend hours doing anything or nothing at all as long as her digits were looped around yours and her breather against your chest; the person who has never experienced so be in conformity with another human being and became blindly drunk on that sentiment.

But also members of the public who, behind the scenes of what seemed like a perfect narrative, you attained so quite amazing, the person who I look back on and cant discern as an extension of who I am now, the person who consented settling and incessant combat-ready and putting herself down to satisfy your laughable high levels of pride, in desperate efforts to keep the experience of the initial adoration on her bitter tongue. The person or persons neglected to recognize the increasing toxicity of her tie-in and believed all of the sorenes, the negativity, the soul deprecation, and all the false pretense were just the simple-minded, worthwhile the cost of being in love.

So although your betrayal and the end of our tale still sears with the same betrayal I experienced on that day, although I do not think I will ever see how you could have gone to such great lengths to rend us down the behavior you did, although my every molecule still reverberates with the sorrow of the cartel I had lent to you- I continue to see the grace in the fact that it was a morbid backing in the most impressive of disguises.

Today, I sit in a restaurant. Impaired and dull. But today, regardless of the luggage I now carry on my shoulders and the wraps I wear on my soul, I have a firm grip on the reality that you were never the person that I thought you were, and that the passion that we shared had still not been sincere for a temporary period- something that would have taken much more duration for me to come to terms with on my own rather than through the work of your tainted hands.

Today, Im aware of these stuffs. Today, although I am shattered and recurred, I am still better than who I was a year ago.

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