15th of February.
Michael called me today. It made me feel a little better because at least my best friend still wants me. I'm not really that bad of a person am I? Maybe you found it weird that I kept your jumpers and always thought about you, but I did all that because I cared. Now I don't know what I'm doing. I feel things, yes. But nothing really computes anymore. I think you call that being numb. You made me numb. All because of a few words. Who am I kidding? All you would have to do is look at me and I would fall to the ground screaming and crying. So please don't. Never again. I honestly don't think I could take it.
That hurts to say. You have no idea how much. You've been a part of me for so long and now that you're not I have no idea what to do. But Michael told me you were doing ok. And I guess I should have known you would be. Because you're strong and you're you. But I'm not. I'm the complete opposite. I cried for days after you left because I didn't know what to do. I still don't.
It's been 22 days, 16 hours and 45 minutes since you left and now I am numb. Maybe it will all hurt a little less once I've had more time. Or maybe it won't. Maybe I will just get used to the fact that you're gone and move on with my life. Because I have to live. Somehow, there's more to my life than just you.
I wish there wasn't.
I didn't stay in my bed all day today. This time I went outside and sat in my old chair that I moved into the back of the garden and sat there writing down everything that might make me feel better. I even made a list. However morbid it may be:
How to feel better.
1. Get Luke back.
2. Die.
3. Love someone else.
4. Listen to one of their songs.
5. Talk to Michael.
6. See my friends.
7. Cry.
Number 3 made me cry the hardest. I don't want to love anyone other than you, but now I have no choice. At least, I don't think I do. Because you got to decide whether I could keep loving you and holding you and kissing you and I fucking hate you for that. I fucking hate the fact that you didn't even shed a single fucking tear when you tore my whole world in half and then shat all over it. I don't want to be angry at you, but I am.
I keep writing you these stupid letters like you're going to read them one day and the only person who knows about them is Michael. He said that once I finish, he'll take them and look after them until you're ready to read them. But I know that you probably won't ever be. Because I don't know why you would be.
I love you. I love you. I love you. And maybe once upon a time you loved me too. But I think you don't anymore. How else could you let me shatter apart like that? You were supposed to be my boyfriend. I thought you were supposed to protect me, love me, make sure I was always happy. But you've done a really, really shit job of that.
Maybe one day I will forgive you. But I really, honestly can't right now. I want to. But I can't. I want you here by my side with ever fibre of my being and you're not and that's why I want to fucking punch in your pretty, stupid face.
But, I love you.
Rhiley x.
