unquantifiable.
unquantifiable
How many more hugs is it gonna take me,
To get over him.
How many more sleepless nights,
Just to forget what I almost had with him.
How many times do I have to pick myself up,
Until I can’t anymore,
Until I don’t have to anymore.
How many more “I’ll get through this”
Do I have to say every time I find myself sulking over it.
How many more times do I have to show up,
And “fake it till I make it”
How many more cliché poems,
Until I stop bleeding on paper with my ink.
How many more breakdowns.
Heartaches.
Cries.
Screams.
Hurting.
Healing.
Rinse and repeat.
How much more till I finally feel like myself again?
How much?
I feel that we can never be ourselves again, ever, for when a person comes into your life, their companionship lodges a part of itself into you, and there is no way to remove it, unless you destroy yourself with it; it is your secret Horcrux. And why must we return to the same old self, for it would mean to be robbed of the memory of the person, and the wisdom of the relationship, would we not deprive ourselves of the only chance to be other people, to be in union with another being?
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