Here I am, getting ready to go back to Vegas. Everything’s packed already. Now I’m just waiting for morning. I can’t wait to be home. Hang out with my friends. Be somewhere where I know the streets, and how to get places. Yeah. Should be fun.
Have you ever felt like your heart had been torn out of you and stomped on and then shoved back in? And then the very essence of your being had been torn out, your soul was gone, and you were just left as a husk of a being. Your core beliefs shattered. Yeah. That’s how I feel about now. It’s been a week since she decided to break up with me (on my birthday), and I still feel the pain. Although now it’s pain mixed with anger and a little bit of hatred. I really don’t like those feelings. I don’t like them at all.
I think that the hardest thing for me to reconcile is that I wrote her a poem not three weeks before for her birthday, and when I read it to her, she cried and told me that nobody had ever done anything like that for her before. And then she told me that she loved me. Now I’m left here wondering, was she lying? How long had she been lying when she told me that she loved me? Did I do something wrong in those three weeks to make her stop loving me? I don’t know. I guess that I’ll never really know. Probably the only thing that I’ll know is the hurt that she did to me. The sense of loss. I really don’t like it. Not at all.