picking at scabs (bad habits)
loving something that’s bad for you is a cycle that’s hard to break. i can’t count how long i sat convincing myself i was crazy. that i was overreacting. that this was normal. and every time it felt like the end, all i could think about were the good memories— the moments i couldn’t stop smiling, the moments i was holding onto for dear life. i held onto the idea of someone who loved me the way i loved them. and sure, maybe sometimes it felt that way. but other times, it felt like that person didn’t exist… or maybe just existed in my head. something in me wanted it to be you so badly. maybe i just didn’t want to start over with someone new. but the nights i found myself alone, i couldn’t help but feel something was wrong. i had too much time to think— and before everything, i would’ve never guessed your love was being given to someone else. all the accusing, the arguments, the blaming me for things i wasn’t doing— you were projecting. you were telling me to my face what was real...