People ask me, "would it help if you knew what happened?"
And I used to think it would.
That somehow knowing why would make it hurt less.
But how would I know you weren't lying?
When you can't tell even tell yourself the truth?
Did you just change your mind?
Did the thing I love about you the most: that you introduced me to your friends without caring what they thought—was that our downfall?
Did you fall back in love with her?
Or did you find someone new?
I have a million questions.
And every day I think the details will blur, the memories will fade, and the pain will dull just a smidge.
But no. Still crystalline. Still searing. Still aching.