Most days I don’t think about you. That’s a lie. I think about you every day. The more I tell myself that I don’t love you, the more my heart says that’s untrue. You’re in my thoughts when I wake up and when I go to sleep. I want to forget you but it seems impossible. N.W.
You can’t turn love on and off like a light switch,
no matter how hard you try. All you can do is wall it off,
one brick at a time, until you’ve created an impenetrable fortress
around your emotions. And once that fortress is built,
you camouflage it so well that even you can’t see it anymore.
A hopeless fool I am; an addict. My substance of choice does not come in a pill or glass; it’s you. Like a junkie who can’t get a fix I shake, sweat and grieve doing my best to shake this habit since you don’t want me anymore. I feel like I am dying. B.R.
Everyone has an addiction,
mine happens to be you.
We were young. I thought we had all the time in the world. It seemed there were thousands of tomorrows left. Life can change in the flicker of a flame. We had a fight and you left mad. Because of a drunk driver now I will never see you again. L.B.
You never knew the last time
you were seeing someone.
You didn’t know when
the last argument happened,
or the last time you had sex,
or the last time you looked
into their eyes and thanked
God they were in your life.
After they were gone?
That was all you thought about.
Day and night.
No one understands the silence between my words. No one understands the sadness behind my smile. No one understands the unsaid feelings deep inside. I have become one person on the outside while another very different one is within. D.G.
You flew off
with the wings
of my heart
and left me flightless.
Standing with a quivering smile I was trying so hard not to cry as we said goodbye. Will you come back like you promised? Will your love remain strong through the distance? I will be here waiting, hoping and praying you’ll come home safely to me. K.B.
I want to be strong
for you right now
but the thought of you
leaving is killing me inside.
The pain of having a broken heart isn’t enough to kill me, but is enough to keep me from living again. I’m stuck between a broken heart and one that doesn’t feel. Alternating between is agony. I want to get over you and I don’t at the same time. T.P.
People have scars in all sorts of place;
like secret road maps of their personal histories;
diagrams of their old wounds.
Most of our wounds heal,
leaving nothing behind but a scar.
But some of them don’t.
Some wounds we carry with us
everywhere and through
the cut’s long gone,
the pain still lingers.
Things were going so well. I had begun to believe I didn’t need you and was finally getting over our breakup. I was almost accustomed to life without you and doing good on my own. Then I saw you on the street. You smiled at me and ruined it all. H.S.
When will it stop?
that… that… that…
that part of me
that was Y-O-U!
Why can’t you fill it?
Why did you leave?
Why, Why, Why?
It happened again yesterday. I thought I heard a car pull up into driveway and was halfway to the door before realizing it couldn’t be you. You’re not coming back. It was only the neighbor getting home early. My longing for you will take a long time to stop. S.O.
In my story you’re the villain.
But in my heart,
you’re still the reigning King.
Coco J. Ginger
I know I’m better off without you, but I remain drawn toward you like I have been to no other. It’s self-destructive to love someone so secretive, shadowy and dangerous. I’ve turned into an addict. You’re my drug. I can no longer get a fix because you left me. M.W.
I am taking this in, slowly,
Taking it into my body.
This grief. How slow
The body is to realize
You are never coming back.
What happened? How much was your fault? How much mine? Which things could I have done differently? What should you have done another way? This is the “looking for answers” game I play. I’m beginning to realize it doesn’t matter. “We” are not more. B.C.
You can obsess and obsess
over how things ended-
what you did wrong
or could have done differently-
but there’s not much of a point.
It’s not like it’ll change anything.
From “The Catastrophic History of You and Me”
By Jess Rothenberg