Sitting at a table. Rocking back and forth.
“I don’t love him. I never did. I cannot. He can’t love me. I am not his type. Why? Why do I still love him?”
Failures of your heart and the lack of any, any willpower towards a stranger. Against him even.
Will this be done with? Will I ever be the way I was before him?
What was I like before him?
The smudged errors of time from now and before. All I see is his face. A dull thudding on the walls as my heart throws itself on to my ribcage to stop the din.
One day my heart will succeed in stopping this beating. Of itself. My mind.
And the thoughts of madness, an obsession with a him who never was.