Will You Ever Love Me Again?

Maybe don’t answer that question

Photo by Eric Ward on Unsplash

Will you ever love me again? I want to ask but I don’t want to know. Because if it’s no, if it’s there’s nothing, not even friendship that’s left for you, for us, I don’t know what to do with that but spiral.

In relationship aftermath I don’t expect the other person to be there. I expect us to part from each other, never speak again, see each other, it’s like they become an apparition. Except this time feels more like a haunting. Everything aches, I’m possessed with how I couldn’t do anything to keep us going.

When you finally love yourself

When you know that this is the most confident, most friends, most sure of yourself you’ve ever been why they need to leave is less clear. Before I could spiral into self-hatred, self-inflicted pain of drinking too much, staying out too late, or working too much to numb it. To create a salve for me to survive.

I’ve never done friendship with an ex. I’ve tried with one of my firsts, a sweet bisexual man that exalted me and adored me. I fell for him because it felt so good to be loved and just held like I was something precious. But, the love he had for me wasn’t the same for what I had for him. I decided for us to end and when we continued with a “friendship” that ended when he suggested that we be fuck buddies.

Together, but not together really.

So, I don’t know how to navigate this. Or if I will even be given the chance to because I know the person I was with is the same as me. No friends that are exes, moving forward and not looking back. So, I’m prepared to have everything severed once they completely move out.

My family is out of the picture like they always have been. Saying that they’ll be there for me, help me financially if I need it, and then when I ask the day after they say they got their own shit to deal with. So, I need to get over it, stop crying, and basically man up.

This is the solution for my family and emotions. Don’t show them to me because you should know better than to fall apart. Vulnerability is a disease and we’d rather laugh than cry any day.