Lover I don't have to love
You know something? The truth is simple and this here it is: God damn it, I wish she cared. I wish I could see her torn up over me. I wish I could see her cry about the fact that I'm not around. I wish that I could see that my absence hurts her as much as her absence destroys me.
I wish I could make her do all of these things.
Because when I think about it now - logically, calmly - she's probably not too distressed by our break-up, is she? She's probably doing none of the above, which are in themselves probably just scenarios that are a product of my gloriously misplaced self-importance and narcissism. Truth: she left me, and while I cried she smiled. When I stayed at home, she went out with friends. While I pitied myself, she studied to for a future.
While I sit here thinking about her, she's already forgotten me.
Most days I stow away such thoughts and I bury my feelings, curbing the emotions and turning my mind on to other, happier thoughts. But this poison is always bubbling and simmering venomously beneath the surface, and when the surface tension bursts it all comes crashing back like a hurtling train, and mows me right over.