Give me break
Give me a second
I need to think about what you told me.
What do you mean you think about me?
What do you mean you wonder why we don't talk?
Do you think one day I just
left?
You kill me. I don't know if I should laugh or cry or die.
I hope that every day I lived with tear stains and eye bags and greasy hair you lived the same.
Looking at you reminds me of when you told me and I don't want to be around you.
Are you that clueless to why I spiraled into my fucking worst?
Why my legs have scars and a year of my life was devoted to getting closure and why a fucking therapist said I was close to having PTSD?
Shut up.
You hurt me.
And it still hurts me that you are so blinded by your boy toy that you almost killed me.
