Closure.

Thank you for the e-mail and the closure I've needed.

Loyalty.

I didn't want to save you. I didn't want to save you. I set our house on fire to watch it burn. But I couldn't just leave you there.

Yours is still the face I see at night. Yours is still the body I feel against mine when I'm so inclined. Yours is still the voice I hear in depression, soothing my sorrow away. Yours is still the touch I imagine when I can't sleep.

My loyalty, my heart, my trust, my body, my soul. It is all yours, if you were to want it. And even if you don't want it, it is all yours to keep anyway.

You.

I'm done. I still loved you, I'm not afraid to admit it. I still do love you, probably. But I refuse to let you do this to me. I can't let my heart shatter anymore just because your name pops up on my screen, and my defenses are useless against you, only you. I reacted. My body was shaking, squirming like a life wire, though I didn't tell you that. Tears rolled down my face at work part out of joy (after all, you had come back! Even temporarily, hadn't I wished for the very same each night since we split?) and part out of sheer agony. You acted as if I never mattered to you at all. But you, you still mattered to me. You still matter to me. You shattered me by mentioning him, and I believe you knew it. Your new, profound, happiness, you threw that in my face, twisting it into an evil thing. And to think, I wanted you to be happy, understanding, no, knowing in my soul you would never use that to harm me. You might as well have slapped me across the face.

Up until yesterday, I had faith in you. Yes, we were separate, over. But I recently had an epiphany. I would love you with all my soul as I had for the past year and a half, until I found someone who made me feel a fraction of what you made me feel. And this was fair. So last night, when you were either intentionally or unintentionally cruel, I was more broken than I had been since we broke up. I went to bed immediately, not wanting to talk to my parents and risk my pain showing through to them. They don't need to know. I was tempted more than once to tell my mother about you, just to have someone who would listen (My friends have grown tired of my incessant obsessing about you, and I certainly don't blame them. So I went to bed, read for two hours, numbing myself out. And then, the tears came.

I moaned and curled up into a ball, holding myself together. My hand was pressed over my heart, encouraging it not to rip itself into pieces. I very nearly screamed and had to muffle myself with my pillow. The same pillow I used to muffle other, happier moans on those nights with you. The tears fell until my cheeks felt stiff with the salt and until my eyes ached. I moaned agonizingly, cursing the day you returned and that first feeling fluttered in my stomach. I cursed you, using your full name which until recently I had only used reverently, begging you to come back, to come home.

Surely you knew of my love, which is why I cursed you. I cursed you for mentioning him, the boy you say you are with now. I'll tell you right now I don't believe you. But just the fact that you would even mention him, knowing what a sore spot it is for me, made me hate you. I cursed you because you had given up when I would have gladly fought for you until the day I died. Even today, I defend you from the friends who wish you dead for hurting me so cruelly.

I made mistakes. Certainly. Sending you that picture of your letter and picture torn up was by far the cruellest thing I have ever done to anyone. I begged too much. I bitched and moaned too much. Yes.

I still keep the ring you sent me. I have that, those black lace panties that were only for you, the heart necklace that would have been your Christmas present and the purple flower that I had from my senior prom. They are locked in a strongbox in a plastic bag labeled with the date we began and the date we ended. It is rare that I look at those things now.

I still love you. I'll admit that, too. But what you're doing to me is far too difficult for me to handle. I think of you too often. Until now, it had been with love. Now, there is still love, but a searing pain as well. You said things, used words you know would sting me. I didn't mean the curses I had moaned last night.

But next time (if there is a next time, as you weren't certain if we would talk again), I will do my hardest to ignore you. I can't keep letting you destroy me. My hope is nearly gone. I'd thought we were soulmates, even after the breakup. Yesterday changed that. You are my one true weakness and despite the anger, if you were to want me back, I know my answer would be yes in a heartbeat. But I've at least got to try to resist. You only want to hurt me, and I can't let you do that anymore.

Promises

I promised I'd love you forever and so I will. I promised I'd always be here and so I will. I promised I would devote myself to you alone and so I will. If you want me, I will be here. Always, always, and always.

Choices

I learned wanting her is a choice, not a necessity. So I'm choosing to want her instead of needing her. So, the only thing I have to say is this: I'll be ready if she comes back, but I can survive if she doesn't.

Useless

I only have one follower and she no longer pays me any attention. Seeing as no one reads this, I need to vent. We broke up nearly four months ago. I'm still crushed, stunted, paralyzed. It's all I can do to wake up every morning and not want to die. She told me that she's pregnant with and engaged to another person- a man, no less. Irony anyone? I don't know if I believe her, my opinion changes depending on the day. Without her, I am quite alone. The void just kind of sits in my chest. No one seems to understand the all-consuming agony. The horrible, sickening feeling that even though it is quite over, and she has not given me any indication of wanting me since before November 28th, I still feel like it's meant to be with her. She has not wanted to speak to me or anything else, but I lie awake at night whispering her name, just hoping she'll hear it. Ready for the twist?

I know as well as anyone that she will not be back.

Poison is Bitter.

I'm sorry. I tried. I am just too fucking bitter to do this on your terms. It isn't your fault. I tried to do it your way and I failed.

I'm sorry.