I just want to yell at him.

I want to hit him.

I want to make him hurt as badly as he has made me hurt.

Fuck him!!!!!!!!!!!!

He is too fucking scared of something real.

He would rather have his “fans” than something real.

Fuck him!

Fuck him!

Fuck him!

I don’t want to cry anymore over him.

I want the hurt to go away.

Fuck him!

He wouldn’t run.

He wouldn’t push me away.

Shame on him for doing it the first time.

Shame on me for believing him.

So, he could do it to me the second time.

Parts of me want to scream, lash out, and hurt him.

As much as he has hurt me.

Parts of me want to curl up into a tiny ball.

And cry my heart out.

Over him.

Parts of me feel sorry for him.

He doesn’t know what he is missing.

By running and pushing.

I don’t know what he expected.

From me.

He could have at least had the courage.

To tell me.

Rather than run.

Fuck him for running.

Fuck him for pushing.

Fuck him for hurting.

Fuck me for believing him.

Fuck me for believing in him.