The worst part isn't when she leaves. Like a funeral you are surrounded by loved ones, and it hurts like hell, but you aren't left alone for more than minutes.
The worst part isn't when she stops loving you, even though it feels like your lungs have no purpose, because breathing without her seems pointless.
The worst part doesn't come until weeks after, when your friends have gone home, left alone in your room, you realize your pillow doesn't smell like her anymore.
When something funny happens and you first instinct is to tell her about it, mid text you pause, realizing she isn't someone you tell about the 'little things' anymore.
Erase, erase, erase. Just like that, it's gone. It's the battle between comfort found in old habits and the sad reality that has become your life.
A reality where love isn't always enough, and always isn't forever, and forever only ever happens in fairytales.
The worst part isn't when she leaves.
The worst part is when you realize she isn't coming back.
YOU ARE READING
𝐒𝐀𝐔𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐄.
PoetryMy spilled thoughts and things I should have said. And when the right time comes, none of this will matter anymore. I am still trying to figure out if that's a good thing or not.
