I hate that I had to ask.
That I had to ask for those pity hugs.
The pity that really meant, "I'm glad that he's out of your life."
I hate that they didn't know.
How they didn't understand that I wanted comfort-someone to just listen.
Because I'm tired of getting those looks of "Oh, you still haven't moved on?", or "Really? Him again?"
Nobody understood.
Just comfort. That's all I needed. Not pity hugs or annoyed looks. None of that helps.
Because I didn't want to let go of you in the first place.
I didn't want to let go of the memories, the warm hugs, your awkward smile, that weird laugh, your cheesy puns, or your accents that never failed to make me crack a smile.
I didn't want to let go of you.
But I had to.
You hurt me.
And it hurts even more now that you pretend everything is okay and how nothing ever happened.
And everyone around me?
Well, they're hurting me too.
YOU ARE READING
The First
Short Story"I am glad it cannot happen twice, the fever of first love. For it is a fever, and a burden, too, whatever the poets may say." ~Daphne du Maurier, Rebecca You were the first one. And no matter how hard I try, I can never forget.
