It’s been months since I slept here…the extra bedroom at my mother’s house, It’s the very last place we were happy together (August 12, 2012). We had both just graduated college and were trying to figure things out. And while you had broken up with me months before, claiming the need for space, we both wanted to try and work it out. I considered it. Even though the pain you caused swayed my decision to move back home 3 hours away, I still wanted you. I was in love. You came to visit me here. When you left, I thought that maybe we could make it if we took baby steps.
That’s besides the point.
I’m writing because I’m laying in this futon in my mother’s extra room, and a piece of you still lingers on it. I woke up at 2:31 in the morning, and I reached for you; something I haven’t done in months. I moved out. I got a new bed to clear my heart, mind, and soul of you, but in this moment, in this bed, I feel you, and I reached for you….and that pisses me the fuck off. Get off of me! Get out of me! How is it that I’m comforted and disgusted at the very same time?