It's Worse

It's worse at night. 

It hurts. It hurts a lot when you love someone and they take that for granted. It hurts when they use your insecurities against you. It hurts when they become a person you don’t even recognize anymore. 

It makes you feel lonely. They were your best friend, your everything. Their family was your family, but now they are gone too. You feel the hole that they have left like it was an actual wound in your chest. 

It makes you question yourself. Was this the right decision? Were you just being over dramatic? Did you convince yourself that you are stronger than you actually are? Can you do this?

It makes you want to do something stupid. Like date other people and flirt and pretend like you are whole when in reality half of you is still in the palms of their hands. Like get drunk and cry and wish you hadn’t left them even though they were tearing you apart from the inside. Like want to call them and take them back. 

It’s worse at night. When everyone is asleep, but you haven’t been able to close your eyes before 4am since it happened. When it’s quiet, and you can’t distract yourself and pretend and smile in front of your friends and family and say “It was the right thing to do. I’m moving on.” 

It’s worse at night because no one is there to hold you when you cry. And if someone was there it wasn’t them. It’s worse at night because the dark hides your shame and guilt as you pull out the letters and the gifts and the pictures—god, the pictures—and try to tell yourself that this was a different time, a different person. 

It’s worse at night because you look at their social media. Their twitter, Facebook, anything you can get your hands on that tells you they are hurting as badly as you are. It’s worse at night when you instead find pictures of them smiling and living and you’re still sitting on the couch crying until you’re numb inside.

It’s worse all the time because it’s not with them. Because you can’t go back even though you want to so badly. Because you aren’t the same person anymore either and it’s because of them. It’s worse because you’re broken and bleeding and the bandaids of “it will get better” do nothing to stop it. 

It’s worse because you can’t fucking move on.