Part of me wants to scream at him, asking what the fuck he thinks he’s doing. Hating him for triggering the memories he knows mean the most to me. Hating him for thinking he can just waltz back into my life, like he didn’t rip my heart out of my chest. But the other part is tired as fuck. Tired of fighting life. Tired of wondering what if? Tired of ignoring him, when all I wanted was to share every hard part of my life with him.
