I know we “broke up” before you got to Boston, fine.
Voices keep saying you had sex every night and that’s how you got the alcohol at the hostel in Boston.
I feel, odd.
It’s a dull pain, every time they bring it up.
Like someone punching you in the chest lightly.
But my heart can’t be broken any further.
I don’t remember it all that well.
I don’t know if you told me, or what to even say.
They keep saying, every time you kissed me, when I asked, you were trying to tell me.
What were you doing? Sparing my feelings?
Why do I have to “find out” like this?
And is it even true?
Yes, yes, there was another girl there. She could’ve had sex and gave it to you, to share. Fine. Maybe that’s true, but I honestly don’t want to be stuck here just debating what I know and nonsense.
I want to go back to no thinking, to diligently doing whatever task at hand, to maybe having the hope of finding someone new that would love me for who I am.
This is literally fucking torture.