I’ll admit it, I’m happy they broke up – because for a short while I loved him.
I mean, who likes to feel replaced? Who desires to see someone they would confide in become attached to someone new? not me.
I may have disagreed with him on everything, he may have been an asshole at times, but I cared deeply for his shitty ass.
I hate that I cared, but I can’t help how I felt toward him.
But there he is. Sitting in front of me again, his gross hair that flips out at the bottom, his thick red jacket (the one that’s extremely fuzzy on the inside, the one that would keep my hands warm on rainy mornings before AP Psych). He got new shoes, I still wear the watch he gave me. a few weeks after we broke up he wore the leather bracelet I gave him, I wonder if he still has it. Why do I care? If he honestly came to me to make amends and try again I wouldn’t take him up on it – he hurt me too much.
He dated Felicia.
He let me meet his family, when he knew he didn’t love me.
I loved him.
I could tell he didn’t love me.
I ignored it.
I’ll admit it, as shitty as it makes me, I was happy when I found out his relationship wasn’t happy – I didn’t care that much if he loved her, I just was happy she didn’t love him.
He’s christian again,
lives with his crazy dad,
probably going into the military.
I’m atheist as fuck,
want to go to university,
I want to travel and live a godless life.
A life of love, of friendship, of tidiness and sex.
I want to burn candles on rainy days,
sleep in on Sundays,
read case studies and policies while drinking black coffee,
eat pomegranate seeds and avocado toast –
White bed spread.
Wall of windows overlooking Seattle.
Seeing a therapist every Tuesday.
A clean fridge.
A white cat, miniature dachshund.
My godless life.