There’s a difference between being sad and missing someone. Sometimes we’re sad because we don’t miss them at all. We’re sad to have realized the reality is that we’re better off without that thing we thought we couldn’t live without, didn’t want to live without. We’re sad that we no longer believe ourselves when we say that it was or will be worth it. We’re sad to have to agree with our friends when they say we deserve better. Because we didn’t want better, we wanted what we had. Mostly we’re sad that somebody or something yanked us from the fairytale we insisted on living in and introduced us to the cold and lonely world of reality, where people leave and love fades.
You believed in the way he made you feel, addicted to how good it felt to have pieces of him running through your veins. You were caught in the thrill, in the adrenaline. The way people get excited for roller coasters to drop so that they can climb their way to the top of a big scary hill again, you were like that when your heart dropped out of your chest; looking forward to the part where he put it back where it belonged. You picked up the pieces of the things he broke while he told you how good you were at it, and you swam in that back-handed compliment. You broke yourself down to the point you believed there was art in the way you tirelessly put your relationship back together. You loved the way his love made your taste buds tingle, so much he was all you consumed. You got high on how summer smelt when it was laced with him. And here you are, an addict, addicted to a love you always hoped he might share with you but never actually got a hit of.