Slowly, yet surely.

Everything is slowly falling apart. He doesn’t even care anymore. Yea, these two years were great, but how can I even look at him the same way? I want to hate him. I want to hit him so hard so he can feel maybe an ounce of what I am feeling. Why can’t I hate him? Why can’t I just forget him? Never to think or to speak his name again. That isn’t possible. For every night when I turn my head to my side table and turn my lamp off. He is there. The last image I see before bed and the first too see when I awaken. I really should take the picture down but I just can’t. It belongs there. It breathes there. It has left its imprint. Just like how he has left his imprint on me. Forever to remain tattooed to my heart.





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