And it hurts, it hurts so much because suddenly you’re imagining a world without him when he’s still lying next to you. And you realize it’s over, you realize it’s been over, you realize it was doomed the minute you started - but how could you have been so goddamn happy, then? And you mourn him on the train ride home because he doesn’t know it’s coming and he won’t see the note until he gets home from the bar he’s meeting his coworkers at. You wonder if he’ll be sober enough to understand that this time, this time, you’re really leaving. No fight, no empty promises, you’re leaving, and there’s nothing he can say to stop you. And it hurts even more when you don’t hear from him because the narcissist in you was waiting for something, anything, indicating that he couldn’t bear to be apart from you. You wonder how long it’s been over in his bones, too. You’re glad you can’t ask. And you write poetry at 4 in the morning and you take baths and watch movies and on the weekends you go out with friends and you call your mom every night and your psychiatrist is the only one who really knows that you think you might have made a mistake. And it hurts, and it hurts, and it hurts. And it hurts.
cut scene: “and it hurts” (via iamt3tra)
