I am still not okay with what happened. I couldn't tell you when we were talking because I was in disbelief. It's not that I was used to the "sad version" of you, I was used to the guy who cared for me, that's all. When we talked, I could tell that I wasn't talking to that guy anymore. But you were still talking to the girl who has always cared about you, and you should know that, but I will never tell you, so you will never know.
I was confused as to why you wanted to call me, but I kind of knew at the back of my mind: it meant you didn't love me anymore, at all, and I didn't want to believe that. I couldn't, because that's now how it was supposed to end. You were not supposed to find out what I was feeling through another person; you were supposed to be reluctant to call me. You were not supposed to stop talking to me; you were supposed to stay with me. You were supposed to understand that you weren't the only one in pain, you were supposed to realize that I, too, was dependent on you. But never mind that. It happened. All of that happened, and nothing went according to my plan. In my perfect plan, we were never even supposed to break up, but we did, so then we were still supposed to stay friends, but we didn't. Never mind. Let me stop talking about this.
Truth to be told, I kind of always wanted us to be something, so seeing you so comfortably move on from me, I didn't exactly rejoice at that. Here I was, dreaming about you at night, my stupid mind conjuring up any excuse to want to talk to you, and there you were, not thinking about me at all, and only pitying me because of my poems, because of how I still write about you, three years later, two years later, a year later, now.
You have spies on my Instagram blog, but you don't have spies here. I made sure of that. Only 2-3 people view my blog, and you are not one of them. That's good. You should never know that I cried after talking to you. The stupid fucking siren in the background was a perfect representation of my mind. I was seated on the bench, crying because I couldn't fathom how my heart had been beating too hard and too fast until it crumbled (again, what a shocker wow). I couldn't believe I was stuck. I still can't. Fuck, what have you done to me? I'm too fucked up, but you couldn't catch that when we talked, because you're not me.
I guess this is what happens when one feels too strongly. I will never forget. The pain. The love. The suffering. The happiness. The tears. The feeling of betrayal. The dreams that came true. The dreams that didn't. Everything. And you.