Spin for you like your favorite records

I don't even miss you anymore. Is that odd? Obviously, I still miss you - I miss being in love, I miss being loved, I miss feeling like I had someone. But on the reverse of that, I don't miss you. I still cant listen to songs without thinking about you, but I can stop pretending that I cursed us. I can't read the books you loved, but I'm able to realise this was on you. Is that strange? It feels strange. I've been believing in fictional stories where you and I are happy, but the true irony is that in every universe we seem to be doomed from the start (The king is Dead). There's some sort of sick irony in it, because everywhere I turn, the universe seems to want to remind me of you.I've got all this ringing in my ears and none in my fingers, all this pain from high volume and amplifiers to block out the thoughts of how you tasted, and yet the repercussions seem minute to the possibility of being happy, and the pain that comes from giving up on your dreams. Not that I have of course, you just won't be the first one I tattoo. You won't be the one to see my dreams at night because you're not allowed in anymore. You're a memory now. It still hurts, don't get me wrong. One year and 7 days, and 5 odd hours is a long time. It was irresistible.An expensive mistake. I'll stop wearing black when they make a darker colour, because it reminds me of you. But I find home in the shadows. Maybe I need to start song writing again. My therapist said it might be a good idea. Maybe I need to get diagnosed. My mum said it would be a good idea. Maybe i need to break all the mirrors in my house, and burn everything you ever gave me. The voices say it would be a good idea. I filled half a book about how much I loved you, I might as well fill half a book about how much I hate you. From Infinity to Stardust, I fucking hate you sometimes. But most of the time, I don't even think about you much. A memory, a summer falling through my fingers again. But that's all you were. And to be honest - I hope someone tastes sweeter than you. I'm sure if we tried again, you'd be a bitter bitch, sour like a lemon and toxic like the waste you acted like I was. Part of me does miss missing you. But a larger part is happy I've stopped giving a shit if your therapist knows all about me. It's fascinating. Love is made out to be this great big thing, but it's just a bullet with butterfly wings, poison but perfect. Fuck you for keeping my first kiss, and fuck you for always having that. Fuck you for still having my heart somedays, but even better - fuck you for making me stop believing in forever.

"And when you ask, you ask, me how I'm doing like you know, you know how much better off I am"