To The Boy I Once Knew

Sept. 17

Its one in the morning right now, and I'm just heavily thinking of the life we once had. I lost you exactly two months ago today, but it still took you less than that to move on from me. It's funny, really. I thought I was worth more than 2 months of you being single. I thought I was worth more than 2 months of you being heartbroken. But you really weren't heartbroken, were you? You were probably thankful of being free from me. From my clingyness. From my paranoid mind and broken heart. I was the one who dumped you because of a spur of anger I felt towards you, but you didn't try to win me back. You would occasionally text me, until I finally told you to lose my number. You said you didn't get the chance to memorize it, but I think you just didn't want to. Yesterday was the first time I cried for you since our breakup, I tried to distract myself from you by letting all the guys (and girls) hit on me. I tried to convince myself I'm over you, but I still manage to bring you up in conversation every once in a while. I cried for you and looked at all the pictures we ever took together, we were happy then. You took my broken, fragile heart and you fixed it slowly, but summer came and you crushed it again. Was I not enough for you to love me when we couldn't see each other as much? Was I not worth the effort of you going on a bus to at least come and see me? Because, before our break up, I was the one putting in effort to drive 20-30 minutes just to see you. I was the one making up excuses to drive all the way up to see you. I was the one spending money and time just to see you. But, you stopped loving me. Now, here I am once again broken hearted because I thought what we had was real. I took you everywhere that was precious to me. I shared my dark sides of my soul with you. I opened up to you in a way my mom could only dream of. In return, what do I get? A broken heart that aches when I drive past your school in the mornings. You promised you wouldn't leave, and you didn't, but you decided you'd let me suffer instead. I still somehow love you, even though you haven't loved me in a long time. People tell me its good that I still care about the people who've hurt me, but I don't feel that way. I feel ashamed for loving you. I feel ashamed for caring about you. Especially because you didn't care about me towards the end. You didn't love me, you were infatuated with me. I've tried to move on, I've tried to flirt with people. I've tried to catch feelings for someone else, but it just isn't the same anymore. I can't let myself love, I don't allow myself to love. You're not letting me love, and you don't even know it. Will you ever read this? I doubt it. Will you ever hear from me again? No, I've told you countless times, I don't fuck with exes.