Cliche love post

What if I said I’m still not over you. That each time I see your face, or even a picture of you, my heart leaps into my throat. A tightening of the chest, the soreness of my throat. I find myself transported back to glimpses of your face, glimpses of time spent together. Snap shots of affection and bliss, at least on my part. The falling of my stomach follows next, as these clips switch to harsher truths and painful words. Such clarity and brimming lids. 

I’m not over you, not over the idea of you, not over the possibilities, not over the pain and agony. I want you by my side, I want to text you now. I want to hear your voice, see your name appear on my screen. Mention you in every situation possible, have someone to contact whenever I want to. I want to just stay quiet with you, or share my feelings to you, to play games with you and listen to music with you. To klearn more about you and about myself along the way to. To want to be a better person because of you, to want to be more than I think I can because of you.


But I don’t want to be sad because of you. To wonder if there are other girls beside you. To worry that one day it will end because I no longer interest you. To hate how unattractive I am next to you, or look so fat in your eyes. I hated the careless manner in which I meant but little to you, how I was never a priority from the start. The knowledge that this wouldn’t last, and the pain from having it end in less than a month. I wish I could rewind the clock and never have met you.

But I would rather go through a hundred more heartaches than to never have been a part of your life, than to never have a memory of and with you for the rest of my life. I can’t say I love you, for we could not, but I do like you a lot. I did.


I do.


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