the book of heartbreak

day 2

Today you hugged me and I got to smell your shirt.

Whenever I come even remotely near you I smell it. That cologne I bought you for Valentine's Day mixed with the old Axe you used to wear. It became my favorite scent.

We talked like we were old friends. You laughed and I told jokes, and it all seemed so staged. Some spectators may have even thought we were back together again, but we were both just being friendly. Although, anyone could've seen the two feet of space we maintained between us.

Then you offered to walk me to class, and I gave you the option. Guess what, you didn't. You had other friends that were more important, and I was just some girl that used to mean the world to you.

Later that day, you didn't even look at me. You acted as if our conversation never happened. When you passed me in the halls, you didn't even look my way or give me the slightest of smiles. That hurt even worse than any nasty look you could've thrown my way.

I saw your phone during class, and I wasn't your background anymore. I saw texts from other girls on your screen, but I didn't say anything. The mere thought of giving yourself up to another girl and telling her the same words that you told me was unbearable.

I told you I missed being yours, and you said you couldn't live up to the same thought. I guess it's true that you don't miss me, and maybe you never loved me either, but that's okay. I'll have to get over it.

I didn't tell you about the other boy who asked me on a date. He's the sweetest boy you would ever imagine, and I know you would be best friends under different circumstances. He told me I was a princess and deserved to be treated like one, and that he would wait for me. You would've never done that.

But his hugs will never be your hugs. His scent will never be your scent, and his words will never be your words. Not in the same way.

I should forget you and move on, but I can't. Something about the way you ignored me and acted as if I were never apart of your life tore me apart. Maybe I'm a masochist and I want more. But underneath, I still hate myself for loving you.

I hate it and I hate you for making me love you.