Thirteen

Rejection is hard to stomach. It’s amazing how a long string of goodness can be so easily unravelled by a few seconds of an Instagram story.

This week has been good, really good. Each day I feel more hopeful and more joyful but then today I saw on Instagram that he was still here, just choosing to not be here, with me.

you’re everywhere except right here and it hurts – rupi kaur

I want to make excuses for him – for why he chose to not do long distance, for why he didn’t reply to my last message. But these aren’t excuses for him, they’re for me. I’m desperately clinging on to this whisper of the past, wanting to believe a better version of him. I’ve got my hands covering my eyes, and even when I force myself to take them away, my eyes are stubbornly shut, refusing to see things as they are. Sometimes I wonder if my eyelids open, if there will be anything there or if I will have gauged my eyes out. Sometimes reality is so painful that I would rather be blind.

Rejection is hard to stomach. Especially when it’s not communicated. If he doesn’t want to see me, then why didn’t he just reply saying so? Surely I deserve the time for a reply?

Fuck him.

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