in the end it won’t matter that he chose you once. that he laughed at all your corny jokes and kissed you like he meant it, that he brought you soup when you were sick and flowers when you were mad.
that he held your heart in both his hands and promised to keep it safe.
in the end what matters is this: tears and tequila, late nights and meaningless sex. dirty sheets and self-loathing and the sinking feeling that you’re not who you used to be.
in the end it won’t matter that he chose you once. what matters is the way he hurt you, the way he left you.
the way he broke you.










