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If we broke up, if he told me we didn't fit, if he told me he didn't love me, he had to break me real hard to get me away, he had to tell me he's been lying, had to tell me it wasn't true.

That it all was a lie.

Because I wouldn't believe it. He would have to ask me to leave, I wouldn't believe it until he took my keys away and ask me to leave.
I wouldn't believe it, not even if he told me a lie to get away with it, like he cheated, that, of all things would be the last thing I believed.
Because I know him.

And even if it would turn out true, that he really was just an ass, I would accept that and still love him.
I would never stay, but I would still love.
Because that's how hard he tricked me.
That's how good he made me feel, how loved I was.

I would hate him, love him, crave for him, ask him to take me back, ask him to take me in.
I would write the most awful love letters, ask the reasons why, send a thousand messenges, find the next media to reach him because he blocked me.

I would let myself try to go on, drown in my own tears and wine, tell all me friend to keep me away from writing him.

And it would break me, the time alone, the time to realize that I would never again hear his voice, feel his skin to mine or kiss his lips.

And after a couple of weeks of physical pain in my chest, tears constantly running down my cheeks, the screams at night while my mother holding me in her arms trying to calm my broken heart, I would become this shell.

This person that walks but doesn't exist. I would become the person that just try to breath, because I would've forgot how to breaht after all those weeks of crying.

And then somehow it would become manageable, because then it's just the thought of him that keeps me alive. And it's also the one thing that hurts the most.
But it's the only thing I have left of him.

And at that point, I think I'm okey, I think I can handle, that's when I pick up a pen, when I write, when I send it, that's the point when I ripe up my heart, when I scratch in my wounds with my bare nails, just to feel something.
To let the pain in, instead of the thought of him.

And the worse part is that I would take him back.
I would let him in, because no one knows me as he does.

Övriga genrer (Drama/Dialog) av Naomi Sand
Läst 263 gånger och applåderad av 2 personer
Publicerad 2018-02-26 21:20

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Naomi Sand