I don’t hate you. That’d just be stupid.
I don’t hate that I loved you, and, to an extent, that bothers me because after all the bad, I should not be able to find the good, I should not remember the good.
And I know you’ve moved on and I know I want nothing to do with you…I know that, I can say that and be honest,
it’s not going to take away what I remember about you and that’s what breaks my heart a little bit over and over.
How we could both sit in the cafeteria and you’d play with my drink or my sunglasses, or sometimes we’d sit on the same side of the booth and I’d completely forget the rest of the world was around us, because in those moments I didn’t care if I gave public displays of affection.
How we’d sit in The Pit and I would always try to be closer to you than what was actually necessary.
How we discussed the versions of “Do you Hear What I Hear?” this time just last year and you shared that you listened to Family Force 5 and that was something I never knew about you.
How we laughed in sync at the Tim Hawkins concert.
And I’ll never forget the way you smiled at me, whether you do or not.
And I know
I know you’ve moved on and she makes you happy and that’s fine.
And I know you probably think I’m not over you,
you think I’m weak,
and you wonder why you wasted your time.
But honestly, I’m happy.
It’s just sometimes…
I think back and remember these things
and I try to figure out what went wrong and where
And I want to be vengeful
and I want to be vindictive,
but this is not one of those times.
This is just simply a time where things aren’t what I expected them to be,
and I don’t hate that,
and I’m not upset we broke up,
because it was going to happen;
we both knew that.
It’d just be simpler,
if no good came with the bad.