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Wednesday, March 15, 2023

Dysfunctional Over-Thinker

I used to think heartbreak came with violins and torrential rain. But no—it's in the awkward silence when he doesn’t text back and the tight smile when he says, “I’ve just been busy.” Every breath felt like breathing in rare, thin air, wondering if he even wanted to be here. How much sad did he think I had in me? Enough to stick around for his half-love? Nah. I’m tragic, sure, but I draw the line at self-implosion. So, I blocked his number, bought overpriced ice cream, and inhaled it like revenge. And guess what? Breathing’s easier already.

The thing is, I wanted it to hurt more. Like, if you’re gonna break my heart, at least make it Oscar-worthy. But nope. No grand finale, no tear-soaked monologue—just me, realizing I cared more about his ‘busy schedule’ than he ever did about my favorite ice cream flavor. (It’s salted caramel, by the way. Superior choice.) So, here I am, alive, un-imploded, and maybe—just maybe—better off. Because if love feels like gasping for air, maybe it’s not love. Maybe it’s just waiting for someone who never shows up. And honestly? I’ve got better things to do.

 


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