Because even after two months, fourteen days, and five hours, you still can’t stop yourself from Facebook stalking them. Or from rereading history logs of old text messages you promised yourself you’d delete days ago. And there’s still part of you that still hopes to god every time you leave the house that you won’t have to see them — just so you won’t have to pretend you’re fine when the sting of goodbye is still killing you inside out. That while it’s like they’ve already forgotten your name, you still feel like someone is punching hole after hole into your lungs every time you think about theirs. And despite all that you’ve learned from Sunday mass, you’ll realize that there might just be such a thing as hell on this Earth.
And yes, it is said that if it doesn’t hurt, you’re doing it wrong. But if it doesn’t kill both of you in the same damn way, it probably wasn’t love to begin with.
|– astagesetforcatastrophe, it should kill you both in the same damn way|