It hurt.

It hurt when you wouldn’t look at me. When you stared at the ceiling while I confessed my soul.

It hurt when you didn’t hold my hand back, when you told me that you were sorry for me but there was distance in your voice. You were sorry for me but you were more sorry for yourself that I was damaged.

It hurt when you didn’t text me the next morning. When I told you I was suffering and reached out but you didn’t answer.

It hurt that you pretended things were okay, I was imagining, things were as normal. It hurt that your messages were sent longer and longer apart with fewer and fewer words.

It hurt when you gave me a glimmer of hope, when you told me about your day, when you acted like you cared.

It hurt when you told me you were sad and I knew I was the reason, that my suffering had caused you suffering. It hurt to know I have given my all to someone so selfish.

It hurt when you called, when you told me my trauma was just too much for you.

It hurt when you said the past two days it had been weighing heavy on you, but it’s been weighing heavy on me my whole life.

It hurt when you wanted to tell me how great I was, to ease your guilt. Maybe if I tell her she is pretty then I won’t feel shame for my ugliness.

It hurt that my past makes me feel like I can never be loved in the future.

It hurt that you proved that true.

It hurts.

It hurts.

It hurts.
It hurts.
it hurts
it hurts
ithurts
hurt
hurt
hurt
hurt