One Week Later, and I’m a Mess

Why is it that you get to make the “mistake,”

get to disregard the boundaries set,

prioritize yourself with disgusting, selfish desires

and I get to bear the consequences of you actions.

I get to stare at myself in the mirror, comparing,

criticizing everything about me that I started to love,

repeating words you wrote out in my head like a movie script,

terrorizing myself with empty days and sleepless nights.

I get to doubt every promise you’ve ever made to me,

question all the trust I ever gave to you,

and reminisce on two years of a love we’ll never get back to.

“I don’t want to lose a piece of you to this.”

“I don’t want you to doubt my love for you.”

“I don’t want to lose you or your love for me.”

Well, now, that wasn’t a concern before you were caught, was it?

Only after you watched as it shattered my heart.

And I get to bear the consequences of your actions,

without reaping any of the dopamine it gave you.

That you felt I couldn’t give you.

How fucking fair is that?

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