#mentalhealth #LoveYourself #embracevulnerability #fyp #ex
Looking back, I don’t think I learned much from the breakup.
I’m still doing the same stuff.
Just colder.
More distant.
Caring less.
Maybe losing you made me stop caring about myself too.
You always wanted me to be better.
You saw something in me I never saw in myself.
Maybe you still do.
Maybe you don’t.
I wouldn’t know.
I’m still lost on you.
I think that’s the problem.
You were never just a person to me.
You were home.
No place has ever felt as quiet as sitting beside you.
No room has ever felt as safe.
I look at old memories and that’s all I see.
Home.
I know how stupid that sounds after all this time.
But my body still acts like it was wired around you.
Like it forgot how to exist without you.
Truth is, I think I just need one more hug.
Not because it would fix anything.
Not because we’d get back together.
Just because it’s been two years since that kitchen.
Two years since we held each other.
Two years since we said we loved each other.
I remember it clearer than things that happened yesterday.
That’s the part that scares me.
I keep asking what I’m supposed to do now.
Nothing makes me laugh.
Nothing feels important.
I can sit in a crowded room for hours and never hear a word anybody says.
People talk.
Life moves.
Days pass.
I just drift through them.
Like a ghost wearing my face.
The only thing that gets me out of bed is my dog.
He’s probably heard more crying than any person alive.
Sometimes I’m embarrassed by that.
A grown man crying into a dog because he doesn’t know what else to do.
But he’s still here.
And so am I.
I don’t feel like much these days.
Just a shell of the man you loved.
Waiting for a phone call that isn’t coming.
Waiting to hear my name from someone who stopped saying it.
And the worst part is I still tell myself it’s deserved.
Maybe that’s what I’ve been doing all along.
Not healing.
Not moving on.
Just serving a sentence nobody asked me to serve.













































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