wait. they don't love you like I love you. wait. they don't love you like I love you.

[bodygraffiti]

when I was seventeen, and an unimportant ex and I broke up, I took out my journal, my paper one, and started listing things I'd miss about him. I think I listed a hundred.
breakups are breakups and people disappear from your life, and a list of a hundred things starts to look silly after not so long. because you can avoid a neighborhood, you can ignore a song, you can forget the specifics of a first meeting. but I started making a list in my head today and it's already well over a hundred. and I couldn't possibly feel more empty. it's harder now because I think I actually shared so much of my heart that things that belong to him and things that belong to me seem to fuse together. I can't even look at my own things without feeling like I've lost them forever. I let him permeate me. and I should've just let it happen, without questioning it and mistrusting it and taking steps backwards to protect myself. because it hurts either way. whether you're permeable or impregnable. I don't know what else to say without this becoming one of those entries that I said I'd stop writing.
anyway, I couldn't write my list down. it's private and uncountable. I miss my friend.