rachelb606
I collapse on my bed, cocoon myself in the covers, and just lie there. Breathing. Thinking. Such an odd thing to do on a Saturday night. It's already been 3 weeks since we last spoke, and he's still all I ever think about. As each day passes, I continue to realize that I have less and less confidence in my ability to get over him. No confidence at all. Not in even in the slightest.
It's a foreign feeling, really. Jealousy. It knows how to consume you--how to infiltrate your every thought, every vein, every blood vessel until you forget that it was possible to feel anything else. It eventually turns into anger and resentment, and all you want to do is yell and scream--get your feelings heard. But you can't. What if that makes him leave? So you bottle it up, living with a smile on your face, pretending it doesn't hurt to see him talking with her--laughing with her. But you can't hold up forever. Eventually, it will be too much to keep in, and you will break. Then, everyone will hear what you have to say.
I stood by her side, holding her hair back as she puked her guts out into the toilet. It was revolting, really, to see her like this, but somehow that didn't stop me from wanting to be here for her, next to her.