I could fucking kill him for that. And yet I miss him, I miss him already. I miss how I felt with him—elated, euphoric, invincible. The whole world illuminated with beauty and infinite possibility. But it was a lie, all a fucking lie. And that makes me angrier than anything. I hate that he tricked me. I hate that he created this attachment between us. He sewed us together down every limb, and now that I’m trying to pull away from it, it’s ripping me apart. It feels like I won’t survive it.
