*fade

“Sometimes,” she says. “I actually can kid myself that I’m over him. I can pretend that his smirk doesn’t get under my skin and make me shiver in anticipation. I can pretend that I don’t spend every night hoping that my phone screen will light up with his name and I can pretend that I don’t spend every night staring at the picture of us on my wall when it doesn’t.”

“And then I ask myself why? Why do I pretend that those nights spent tangled in his bedsheets meant nothing to me?” A sob catches in her throat.

“And I realise it’s because they really didn’t mean anything to him.”

—  There’s always strings attached, 17/04/2015