It’s okay to think about yourself once in a while, it’s okay to be selfish. Because if you don’t stop for a second to care for yourself no one will.
—  Right where it hurts.
The first person that you think of every morning and the last person you think of every night is either the cause of your happiness or the cause of your pain.
To whom it may concern,

Thank you for letting me go.
Our time was everlasting
in my heart,
but oh so limited in yours.
Thank you for showing me
my worth
by way of not being there,
for not finding me when I was
lost,
not helping me up when I
fell,
not drying the tears from my eyes
when all my walls
were torn down.
Thank you for not believing
in me,
and not being proud to
call me yours.
For not listening,
for not giving,
for incorrectly loving me.
Thank you for the sleepless nights,
and the countless hours
I would wait by the phone.
Thank you for telling me
sweet nothings,
how thoughtful it was of you
to play a charade.
Thank you for not accepting me
the way you said you would,
for who I am,
for the harshest words you
ever said,
with lines including
“Stand up,”
“I’m leaving,”
“This is it.”
Thank you for watching me
fall and for looking the other way.
For being mean and
unloving,
unforgiving,
selfish.
Thank you for showing me
what love is not
and for ripping out my
only heart
again and again.
Thank you for letting me
pick up my pieces
by myself
because I am stronger
than what I was before.
Thank you for not loving me
because I deserve
so
much
more.

Don’t let this destroy you. I know you loved him, you believed him when he said this was forever. I know it fucking kills but please don’t let it kill you. He doesn’t deserve it, not a second more of your time. He’s not worth the tears because as hard as it is to hear, it doesn’t hurt him to see you hurt. You are so much more than what he took away from you and I promise one day you will see that again.
It's been a few weeks now since we stopped talking, I wonder if the thought of how I’m doing has crossed your mind? because the thought of how your doing constantly crosses my mind.
The truth is, I hate the way things turned out between us. I hate the way you moved on so quickly and I’m still stuck here thinking about what could've happened if we hadn’t of messed it up?
But I’m slowly picking myself up, piece by piece, and soon you will just become another memory.
Because I will soon stare blankly at my hands and not remember how your hands felt against mine and not hate the thought of your hand wrapped around hers,
But instead I will be happy for you,
I will thank you for helping me find who I am and realise that it does get better.
Over you

The wrecked car on your doorstep is a metaphor for what you’ve done to me.
The broken flowerpot on your windowsill is a reminder that no flowers are going to grow in my garden when you walk past them holding any of our future children’s hands.
Sprinkle the extinguished cigarette butts on your floor instead of rose petals over my closed coffin as it gets lowered into the grave.
Go home and take off your mourning clothes and boil a pot of your tears on the stove to make tea for two…you and your shame.
I won’t be around anymore.