Seven Months

Seven months.

Seven months too long of being with a man that could've once loved me, yet chose to break my heart.

I held onto hope, the belief that change was going to happen; it was inevitable.

His scent was my happy place, just like the sound of his laugh reminded me each time of why I could've possibly loved him.

So, I ask myself, why did I continue to go back to him. It's almost as if the unhealthy, constant on and off was some type of thrill for him. I allowed my emotions to control me, and my feelings for him blind me from the truth of our reality.

We just weren't meant to be.

I wish I could take back the feeling of his palms against my skin, or how we fell into our own routine that make it so hard to break away.

He's was my first and last thought, but now I want nothing but to eliminate him from my life. His cruel words finally broke through my clouded mind and allowed me to realize, despite where I go these next several months; I still may feel tethered to him. But, eventually I'll breathe again.

Here I am, longing for a trip to the beach where I can escape from the noise he left behind, and start over.

We found one another, and fell seamlessly, so why does it feel like I grasping for him, yet am only getting empty palms.