Flickering, fading

The pages of my planner were deprived of content ever since you happened to me.

I stopped planning. Stopped organizing my schedule. Stopped thinking ahead. Stopped looking forward.

I spent most of my time and money getting drunk, wasting away wherever, whenever, and with whomever. I drink to forget but I only remember the pain more vividly in each sting of alcohol. I kept drink anyway. I flirted with every cute guy I encounter. I started smoking too. I started ruining myself and turned into everything I hated.

I was in denial at first. I always was.

When I realized how lost I’ve become, I finally accepted that you broke me.

And I don’t know who I’ve turned into. I look in the mirror and hate who I see.

“At least you’re prettier”, is what I tell her.

“At least you’re not sad”, is what she tells me.

I guess––or at least I convince myself––that that’s what matters.

 

I’m not sad.

I’m not sad.

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