After the heartbreak, I promised to never be that girl again.
I fulfilled the cliche-
I cut my hair short.
Something to mark a new beginning.
I got a tattoo with no real significance.
Most things in life don’t make sense anyways.
I moved further away from my parents and it was more than a metaphor.
I’ve learned that life is harder without the people who love you and returned to sleep in the bed that held me far longer than you ever did.
I don’t miss you anymore.
You still act weird around me, sit in the corner of a room and pretend that I do not exist.
Some days it feels as if I don’t.
There is no one here to love me like I deserve to be loved.
My voice is still not loud enough to be heard over all the background noise.
My friends are fixated on superficial things.
A love that doesn’t last.
A party last weekend where they fooled themselves into thinking alcohol tastes better when you are hurting and fell asleep on the couch of a stranger.
This is a measurement of how much ache we fail to acknowledge.
How many things we kick underneath our doormats just to prove that there is a way to keep moving forward.
If there is a way to keep moving forward,
for me, it has never looked like this.