I envy, yet pity you.
I envy the way it was so easy for you to move on from us.
Most likely, since you never really loved me. Perhaps loved the idea of me?
I envy you for laughing with someone else, making them smile, the same way you made me.
For keeping someone else warm, for even actually wanting someone else.
However I pity you.
Not because your heart is broken, but because you don’t know how to love.
Every girl, you consume yourself into them, making sure they want every inch of you.
Then, you find them dull to your interest. So you simply move on, to a contemporary being.
You make them fall in love, you tell them everything a girl could possibly want a boy to fill her soul with.
I pity you, because you will never understand what it feels like to be in love.
I know you know what happiness with another person is, but to truly be in love.
Where no other character is even desirable to love, where you’re truly content with a single intellect.
I’m slowly feeling unoccupied with the thought of you, slowly feeling exempted from your toxic love.
So I will deliberately forget, about everything you brought to my essence, because it only makes me want you more.
No hard feelings, no open wounds. They’ve been covered up, by the dampness my eyes let fall.
I’m going to keep my footing, one step in front of the other. And keep you as an example;
Of someone who’s baneful to my conscience.