Losing you wasn’t just painful, it was fucking damaging also. It wasn’t me sitting down on a couch surrounded by my friends as we watched movies and ate food to try and forget you. It was me staying up at four in the morning because the thought of you was so fucking strong I couldn’t even close my eyes without seeing your face. It was me swallowing thickly and blinking back tears every time I was in public, the hole in my chest causing my breaths to come out shaky rather than normal. It was me laughing at things for no reason as my stomach turned because the urge of falling apart was getting stronger. It was me crying at random hours during the day and me not wanting to get up out of bed. It wasn’t just me staring blankly at your number, deciding whether or not if I should call you. It was me throwing my phone at the wall and breaking it, because I was drunk again and the thought of you ever changing your information terrified me. It was me deleting our conversations and regretting it because now I couldn’t know where we had went wrong. It fucking hurt, losing you had hurt and I wasn’t ever able to forget that kind of pain.