It hurts.
It hurts when I look at you,
and it hurts when I hear your laugh. It hurts when you walk by me like it's nothing,
and it hurts when you act like I never mattered.
It hurts when I think about what you did to me;
and it hurts when I remember how you crushed my heart into dust.
But most of all, it hurts that you're not the person
that I'm spilling these late night thoughts to.
It hurts that a pen and paper give me more comfort
than you ever did.
YOU ARE READING
FUCK FEELINGS
Short StoryShort story excerpts. "We cling to music, to poems, to quotes, to writing, to art because we desperately do not want to be alone. We want to know we aren't going insane and someone else out there knows exactly how you're feeling. We want someone to...
