not kicking myself, but mildly miffed that i’m thinking of you. the screams of anger diminish, but all it takes to set them off again is thinking about this silence and how the door slammed. you liar. i think i hate you most because i believed you. not your fault, of course, that was my mistake. same old pattern, repeating, hate you because i love you and you won’t treat me well. it’s not really hate, of course. more like a combination of hurt, anger, wishfulness, and self-loathing for not being able to drop you as easily as you have me.
human stuff, really. but i still wish you were as willing to care and be there as you pretended. though i suppose it is worth saying i’d rather not have you around if the pretense is all you have to offer.
which brings me to the question of why i’m still hurting for it. knowing it was pretense on your part ought to shrivel it all up, right? i find it is a slower process than i’d like. so, in the interim, i wrestle with it. and try not to wish so much that you do, too. i’m rather ashamed of the part that wants you to hurt, but only because i can’t find a way not to feel it or not to take comfort in the possibility that i’m not hurting alone.
this is just this moment. that’s a reminder that helps. this moment will pass and maybe it will be a while before i think of you again. step by step until the memory fades.
wow. i never thought i’d see the day where i would wish for that.
i feel sad for it.