fuck.

We’re long gone and moved on. We are. Or at least you are and I am. There’s no ‘we’ anymore. It was painful, i must say. It was helluva painful two years for me to actually get over ‘it’ and get over you. When the hell did i become under you? Two long years were a torture to have every memory of you linger in my doormat, in my bed sheet, on my social media accounts, on my notebooks, underneath my skin, on my mind, inside my heart. I am not a freaking fan of prepositions but in every part of my memory you did have a place; two long years of trying to figure out how the hell did we end up like that; two long years of trying to disappear completely in this world since you turned off my lights and walk out my door after leaving me with planted seeds that you never cared to water or even put under the sun; two long years of craving for your love that lasted for three short years full of memories but still, never, ever had been enough. But those years are over. I stopped everything i had for you. Or should i say, it stopped. Like waking up one day and realize, the heck did i just waste my time crying over spilled milk? Upfront we told each other, “i feel nothing now”. We both agreed. I’m happy it’s over.

But, to elaborate my title,fuck: I’ve been feeling something’s missing. I go over my old posts from my previous social media accounts which thank god i never deleted, and as i read every post i dedicate to you, there’s this longing that wants to get out my chest and be put into words. Nope, don’t get me wrong. I’m not longing for you. Something inside me is aching for pain. I miss the heartache. I miss getting hurt. I miss the pain.

Fuck. I should have learned my lesson to not get too attached with anything. First you. Now, the pain.

Fuck. How can a person be missing the pain.

I guess it’s because feeling pain is better than feeling nothing.
And this is how i become a masochist. Great. Fuck. Bye