The Story Of Us

There's an ache in my chest, an ache that aches ten times worse when I'm reminded of him, like when I catch a whiff of that stupid cologne he used to wear, or when I stumble across an old photo of him stuffed in my journal. I like it though, it's painful, but it's the only thing of him that I have left.

Our story is a sad one, the receipts from our dates had faded, just like his love for me had...
In every relationship, no matter how much you try to deny it, there's always one person who loves the other more, I guess I was that person.

I'm a clingy girl and for this reason I'm writing our story down, so hopefully I can let go, hopefully I can move on from him, from us.
This story is the truth, the hardcore unforgiving truth that is life. And I'm making a pact with myself, that after this, after our story has been told, that I will move on, that I will forget about him, about us.