Houndstooth Mini Skirt, Black Bow Blouse, Pearl Earrings: Thrifted.
Black and White Flats: Charlotte Russe.
"I hate you," I hissed out of my mouth. The words hardly audible over my tear soaked sobs, my breath hitching and coming out strained. It was starting to get cooler outside and the bugs were biting. The concrete I sat on was cold.
"You don't hate me, you hate what I've done,'" he defiantly said to me, always eager to clear his name. His blue green eyes held my gaze harshly, demanding I believe him. The once soft eyes I loved to gaze into were cold as ice.
I sat there battling with myself, contemplating if I really hated him or if like he said, I had hated what he'd done to me. My mind raced back to the events of the last few weeks. Every moment, every feeling, every sight, taste, touch, sound. I was weak and under his blazing glance I said defeated, "You're right- I don't hate you. I just hate what you've done."
----
It's been almost a month since I've talked to him last. Every morning when I open my eyes the first thing I do is calculate. I calculate how long it's been since we broke up, since he started dating her, since I've talked to him last. I have it down to the day. Everything is a calculation anymore. A cold and unfeeling calculation; just like him.
I'm out of the sad, 'pity party me' stage. I'm out of the 'what is wrong with me' stage. I'm out of the wanting him back and the misery stages, crying on the floor with my makeup everywhere. All of these have been replaced with anger. An anger so fiery and full of flame it surprises myself most days. Although the feelings first listed haven't all completely gone away yet, some still do lapse over each other from time to time, but my main feeling anymore is pure anger. One I've never felt before.
Yeah, I'm angry for what he's done to me; you all don't even know the half of it. But more than any anger I have against him of what he's done to me I have an anger for what he's done to himself. He's unrecognizable. I see not one single ounce of the person I once knew. He's a selfish, conceited, a hole to say the very least. I don't know where he went wrong, why he changed, or even when he changed. But the day where I asked him, "you lose me or stay with her," and he picked her over me I knew that he wasn't the same person I've known for five years. The one I knew wouldn't have ever done that.
From things I hear about him all I can feel is anger and disappointment in the person he has become. It angers me to the core of my body, so much that I shake with rage whenever I talk about it. The tears aren't sad anymore- they're furious. I think maybe sometimes I could have stopped all of it. That it was something I did to make him like this. And then sometimes I think that maybe this was who he was all along; that the bright and beautiful boy I once knew was all a lie.
All I know now is that he is dead. I mourn the person I once knew and in my opinion, is never coming back. It's been hard to give up on him. It's one thing to give up on a relationship, but another to give up to your best friend. But when they do everything you never thought they would do, turn into everything you hoped they would never be...there comes a point for your own health that you have to let go and give up on a person because you have to move on with your life. You can't sit there wishing every single day that he would change, that things will get better, that someday he'll come back to you. Because honestly, I can't believe any of that anymore. Things are beyond repair.
---
"I
hate you," I hissed out of my mouth. The words hardly audible over my
tear soaked sobs, my breath hitching and coming out strained. It was
starting to get cooler outside and the bugs were biting. The concrete I
sat on was cold.
"You
don't hate me, you hate what I've done,'" he defiantly said to me.
His eyes blue green with hints of yellow, the most spectacular eyes I've ever seen, held my gaze harshly, demanding I believe him.
The once soft eyes I loved to gaze into were cold as stone.
I
sat there battling with myself, contemplating if I really hated him or
if like he said, I had hated what he'd done. My mind raced back to the
events of the last few weeks. Every moment, every feeling, every sight,
taste, touch, sound. I was weak and under his blazing glance I said defeated, "You're right-I don't hate you. I just hate what you've done."
But if I had to go back in time, this is what I would say instead.
"No, I don't hate you. I hate everything you've become."
I hate everything you've become.
With much love, Lauren.
