I’ve been trying so hard not to miss him, but I can’t. I miss him so much. I want him to hold me and touch me and want me again. I want him to love me. I wish I could love me because you know, they say you have to be happy with yourself before you can be happy with someone else. But I am not good enough for myself. I can’t make myself smile like he could, can’t hold myself tightly like he would. And when my own skin brushes against my own lonely skin, I just want to tear off all my damned skin and die because I can’t stand the thought that for the rest of my life I’ll only ever have my own fingers and hands and arms to touch and hold and comfort me. I can’t stand the thought that he’ll never love me and that he never did.
I’ve been making a bad habit of getting drunk and crying over this boy who never loved me, of longing for just one more night spent in his arms, of aching for all those kisses that will never again transpire. And I can’t quite tell if I miss him because I’m drunk, or I’m getting drunk because I miss him but either way I know I’m sad. And I can’t quite tell if the alcohol numbs or intensifies the pain felt by a broken heart so I guess I’ll keep drinking until I figure it out. All he left for me were haunting memories and an emptiness that permeates my being. The spaces within and around me he no longer occupies are painfully obvious, making my loneliness inescapable. And while I’m left with only my sad self drowned in tears and the bottle, he’s got her in his arms and her in his bed and her in his heart and he will never be lonely.
– Jade Alexandra