Moving On

How pathetic. That’s what I think of myself when I look back. Back at how I handled that. How I handled getting over you.

I wouldn’t really call it getting over you. In fact I’d call it anything but that. Thinking about you. Crying over you. Writing about you. It was an endless cycle that lasted for what seemed like forever. And you were just going on about your business leading another girl down the same path of heartbreak like I meant nothing.

You weren’t even worth the tears. I knew that. But night after night I still cried over you. Apparently my heart couldn’t get the message my brain was sending. Such a powerful disconnect.

I must have been so obnoxious to be around, to talk to. Relating every show, every outing, every song back to you. I know I have some amazing friends because they should have slapped me in the face. You know how they do it in the movies and accompanied it with a big “Snap Out Of It!” But they listened to me complain about you time and time again.

It’s crazy looking back at things in retrospect. I saw the heartache you caused your ex and had somehow convinced myself that she brought it on herself. That I wouldn’t end up like her. And now I’m standing with your ex girl, looking at your next girl, feeling so incredibly sorry for her and the pain you’re about to put her through. Yet not sorry enough to warn her.

But at least I’m finally over you. And I’m not just saying that in an effort to try to convince myself. This time I mean it. I’m over you. And it feels amazing.

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