it’s a shame that my life still revolves around him. i still secretly view his stories , and his new girlfriend’s, while i should’ve just muted them. i don’t need to know about them anyway. it’s already over.
but it’s like i’m addicted to the ache. the kind that’s small enough to live with, but sharp enough to remind me it’s still there. i don’t even cry about him anymore; i just… linger. like standing in a room long after the song’s over, waiting for an encore that’ll never come.
sometimes i think i check his stories not because i miss him, but because i miss me when i was still loved. i miss the version of me who was wanted, chosen, texted good morning. that’s the part i can’t move on from. not him, but the feeling. or maybe i’m just nosy, like a pathetic ex creeping through digital windows, even when i know i shouldn’t.
and every time i see her — the new girl — i get this weird cocktail of jealousy and curiosity. like, what does she have that i didn’t? what did she fix that i broke? i zoom in on her smile, her clothes, her vibe, as if decoding her could somehow explain my own heartbreak. it’s pathetic, again. but also kinda poetic in a stupid way.
poor girl. we’ve never talked. she’s done nothing wrong. and yet here i am, hoping to find proof that she’s no better than me. while knowing deep down that in some ways, she probably is.
the worst part? i don’t even want him back. not really. i just want to stop being haunted by something that doesn’t even exist anymore.
maybe that’s what moving on actually is. not deleting, not blocking, not pretending. just slowly letting the ache fade until one day you forget to check. until one day you realize you’ve gone a week without thinking about him. and maybe that’s enough. maybe that’s healing, not loud or cinematic, just quietly slipping away.
but i’m still waiting for that day to come. when is it? god only knows. for now, i’ll just let myself be the pathetic ex who hasn’t moved on.
