Hitting a Nerve

This is my life.

He’s inches away, all day… and I die.

I feel that pain on her face in ways I never imagined I would.

He sat down last night and I was hit by the train that is his cologne.

I breathe through it and hold my own hands. I have a million regrets and a trillion cravings when it comes to him.

It’s his birthday and I’ve never wanted to be cake so much in my whole life.

Wanting a man that doesn’t want you, is the worst kind of self loathing. So I planned ahead and invited a team of snipers, dedicated to help save me from myself.

I didn’t give him the card.

I saved myself a little.

Kind of.

I came home having made the snipers proud. I had not said the things I wanted to. I climbed into my bed with my heartbroken self and started texting him…


When my asshole cockblocking friends interrupted.

I may have shit taste in men (cause I’d be fucking him instead of whining about it right now if he were any real kind of spectacular) but I have impeccable taste in friends. I never knew I could feel so loved and heartbroken, simultaneously.

I didn’t wear what I wanted to.

I swallowed my words and digested my hurt feelings, as much as it broke my heart, freshly.

I’ve perfected the art of smiling through pain, I may as well use it.

My loving him doesn’t make him good. It won’t change the fact that he doesn’t love me back and it wont make it any more justifiable that I waste more time trying to convince him how wrong he is.

As much as that hurts like a heart attack.

Sometimes the man you love, doesn’t love you back. Even when it’s the stupidest mistake he’s ever made.

Sometimes, you are someone’s biggest mistake.

It’s evolution, y’all. You know you’ve gotten your shit together when you can smile at a man and know that you’ve learned something from him, whilst teaching him a life lesson.

It isn’t all sunshine and rainbows, but sometimes the lightning and thunder drive the lesson home, the hardest.

2 thoughts on “Hitting a Nerve

  1. “Sometimes, you are someone’s biggest mistake.”

    The saddness in your words made me cry in my coffee, bitch. You need to remember who you are and forget this asshole with bad taste that’s weaseled his way under your armor.

    I love you hooker, call me after work and we’ll martini and cry.

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