If You Broke My Heart, Why Do I Still Miss You?


It’s been three weeks since you walked out – not literally, of course, because you ended things with me over text message and I didn’t get the luxury of having those stomach-turning words delivered directly from your mouth. I even had to be the one chasing you afterwards to get the spare key to my flat back which – all things considered – was one of the most embarrassing and upsetting moments in my recent life as being the proud person I am, I felt like a joke. You were meant to come and give them back to me. You broke my heart, so things were meant to be on my terms.

You apologized to me. You said you meant all the things you’d said when you said them and that you never meant to hurt me intentionally. You said you didn’t expect me to believe you after everything; an opinion reinforced by the fact I made quite clear to tell you that you had hurt me in the worst way you possibly could’ve at this given moment. By taking advantage of and breaking the trust I so hesitantly gave to you at a time where I’m still so emotionally vulnerable, which you knew. And it hurts, you know. That whether or not you meant to, you still hurt me.

And yet I’m plagued by the fact I still miss you. If it wasn’t for the fact that we used the L word and spoke jokingly of futures, I probably wouldn’t feel so burned. If it was just casual – recreational – it would’ve been okay. We could’ve just said “It is what it is” and there wouldn’t have been any hard feelings.

I thought of you last night, too, as I lay curled up in bed coming to the end of my book. As it got darker and later, I felt like the cold in my sparse bedroom was becoming more pronounced and I thought to myself how wonderful it’d be if you were there and we could hug, and cuddle – maybe kiss.

We don’t speak much anymore, but it makes it impossible for me to ignore you or act like you don’t exist when whenever I go somewhere with WiFi and there’s a message from you from however many days ago saying “Hi,” and naturally I feel obliged to respond. It doesn’t help that I feel compelled to talk to you – to make conversation – just so that your existence remains connected with my world.

I honestly believe that you still care about me. You wouldn’t try this hard with me if you didn’t. I just wish that when the time comes where your suppressed feelings come out that I’m the one hearing them, and not someone else.