I’m Done Pretending Like I Don’t Care That You Broke My Heart

It’s Sunday night, and I’m chasing my broken heart with a bottle of wine. I haven’t made it a single day without turning to a vice to fill my emptiness.

I’ve forgotten how to be comfortable without you here.

The truth is, you broke my heart, and I’m done pretending like I don’t care.

I’m thinking about all the things I’d give to be lying in your bed once more, exploring your mind and getting lost in the stories behind your tattoos.

I’m not a greedy person, but when it came to listening to you, I always wanted more. I could have listened to you talk for hours. The velvet touch of your voice sang me to sleep like my favorite lullaby.

I’m thinking about your fingertips on my skin igniting a fire, flames like the smoke from your cigarette.

American Spirits. Light blue.

A cigarette. That was how it all began with us anyway.

Immediately, you had found your way into my orbit. And though I had sworn I’d never allow myself to get tangled up in a cute boy’s pretty words again, you sounded like honey to me. I desperately craved a bit of sweetness in my life.

Your body became my home.

And yeah, flickers of doubt had danced across my mind. But you told me exactly what I wanted to hear. And I had too much naivety buried in my bones to hear the dishonesty in your voice.

See, if I knew that things were going to end up the way they did, I wouldn’t have asked you about your ex. I wouldn’t have introduced the thought of her so easily into your mind.

I would have played it cool and ignored the fact that you still talked to her on a regular basis. The stars she put into your sky hadn’t quite burned out.

What hurts most is that I keep writing about you and me like there was an us. In reality, there never was. There was just a month of me falling for you and you using my body to keep you warm through the night.

And now you’re gone. And now I’m back to smoking cigarettes out my bedroom window alone at 3:00 am instead of sharing them with you in your car.

Even amongst all of the aching, all of the sadness, all of the pain that lies weaved throughout my bones, I still think of you — more than you deserve.

I’m always thinking of you. You haven’t left my mind since the night I met you.

And I’m done pretending that you meant nothing.

I know I’m probably romanticizing this entire situation more than it deserves. But something about you filled me with colors I never knew existed.

And I can’t help but think about how the entire time we were together, she was on your mind. When your lips were on my skin, you were thinking of her.

When you were telling me that you wanted to keep me around, you probably already knew that you’d be going back to her.

What hurts my heart the most is that you didn’t give us a chance.

The second that you had the opportunity, you ran right back to her. You didn’t even wait long enough for my scent to leave your skin. I bet you still tasted me in your mouth when you climbed back into bed with her.

As much as I don’t want to admit this, I’d let this happen over a thousand more times as long as it meant I’d have you back in my life.

I could get lost in you for the rest of my life.

Maybe one day you’ll realize that the stars in the sky haven’t shone as brightly as they did when I was in your life, and you’ll search for a bit of my moonlight to brighten up your darkness.

And when you realize I’m not there, maybe you’ll pick up your phone, call me, and tell me you made a mistake.

And, as much as I hate to admit it, when that moment does come, I’ll be here with an open heart.