E non mi importa se non mi ami più

Strappami la testa dalle nuvole.

“do you ever miss me? do you ever think of me in those moments of nothingness? do you ever think back on how we met? do you ever wish we could go back to the 3 am conversations we had? do you ever wish we could just talk till infinity feels no longer than a second? do you ever just miss me?”

“We were too similar in the end. The same side of the same coin. There wasn’t room for the both of us. When we loved, it was beautiful, passionate. When we fought, we fought with the same claws. Three months in, I knew. “You’re going to hurt me,” I told him. “No I won’t.” He said. He had the same kind of stubbornness that I felt every day. The same pride. 4 months in, we had our first fight. “You don’t love me like I love you,” he said. I wanted to cry. Later that night I started sobbing into the sheets and he wrapped his arms around me like a blanket and buried his face into my neck. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” The following morning things were normal again. But there was a heaviness in the air. We’re too similar, I thought. We understand each other too well. We understand how to act in order to cause hurt. Not just a little bit, but with a sharpness that rips to the core. We know how to tear each other apart just like we know how to build each other up. I was terrified. “He’s going to hurt me,” I said to myself. And a voice inside of me said, “but you knew that from the start.””

“We met at the wrong time. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway. Maybe one day years from now, we’ll meet in a coffee shop in a far away city somewhere and we could give it another shot.”

“La verità è che sei solo un inganno della mia testa”

Yes, I miss you,