Dear A.

It’s been three months but it still hurts, which is so stupid cause at this point the break up has been longer than the dating itself.

I wish I could wish you well but, as horrible as it is, you shouldn’t be allowed to move on and be happy while my chest gets heavy every time I hear your name. 

I don’t miss the sex, I don’t miss the kisses (that much). I miss being happy and at home in your arms and while I’m slowly healing, I know that even when I’ll fully heal, I’ll go back to the me before you and I don’t want her, I want the me with you around.

I hate that you made me into the type of person whose happiness equals a person and I wish I had one of those memory eraser they have in MiB so I could delete the memory of you and, at least, be content in my ignorance.