A few months ago, my girlfriend dumped me after exactly a year of dating. When she said her feelings had changed, it felt like getting drop-kicked in the chest 345 times. Like being tied to a chair and forced to watch The Room on repeat for 30 hours straight. Or worse — stepping barefoot onto a Lego minefield. In simpler words: it hurt like hell.
At home the tears blurred the room until the world was a browser page: 404 — happiness not found. I hovered over her old texts, staring at those good morning messages, realizing I’d probably never get another. it had hardly been sixty minutes, and I was missing her just like Walter White Jr. misses his breakfast.
 |
| Don't mess with my breakfast |
And then came the 3 AM spiral. Her words coiled around my brain like a snake tightening on its prey. I scrolled through her pictures, sometimes even stalking her page for a glimpse of… what, comfort? Did it help? Not at all. It was like stabbing myself and then asking the knife to hug me.
The worst part? My brain kept whispering the same useless question: What did I do so wrong to lose her? Did asking myself that make me feel better? Absolutely not.
Comments
Post a Comment