so, i’m counting our breakup day as the day we broken off all forms of contact. before it we were simply breaking up (for all those eternal 6 months of it). we would not let it close. every time, we would rip the wound open again. until june, 11th. officially the last time you read me, and the last i heard from you. that’s when i deleted your number (which i never had it memorized ‘cause it’s the twenty-first-fucking-century). that’s when i went silent - even my poetry, so i tried writing in a diary again (at least it can’t be posted). even though we started breaking up back in 2022, the early days of September, none of it was real until right about july, 11th, 2023. a month since you were definitely gone. gone. for real, gone. my friends think i should be over it already (it’s been almost a year since we started the breakup cycle). they don’t get it, though. for me, it’s been only a month, four days and 9 hours. but who’s counting?
- hoping to hit my head, fall asleep and forget all about us