Fuck you for being okay, after only a few days. I’m sick, and I’m sore and god, I am lonely. Every time I talk to you, it hurts. I can feel your hands on my skin still, burning down into my bones like a raging house fire. Fuck you for going out every night and getting drunk and drowning your pain in another girls hips and eyes. Fuck you for even having pain to bury. You left me, you left me to listen to my favourite songs and cry, because the first time we made love and the first time I felt the crushing weight to tell you everything was to a soundtrack of Led Zepplin and Metallica. Fuck you, because now I have throw out my favourite movies because you held me when Mufasa died. Fuck you for fixing me, then deciding that maybe I wasn’t ever meant to be fixed. Fuck you leaving, again.