I will let you choke from the noose around your neck

I'm not allowed to say I miss you. Because doing so would mean I'm still living in the past.

I guess I don't miss you, the you who left. The you who left weren't that nice of a person. The you who left was good riddance.

But you were also the same person who stayed up when I was sick. Who sang weird out of tune songs just because I asked.. And once in a while, you would appear on my phone simply because I crossed your mind.

It sucks- the fact that one could have so many different sides of them. That no one is constant. That one can grace the face of earth with their niceness one day but decided to not care the next day. 

We've been strangers for a while now. I guess I'm not that unhappy being a stranger to you. You were cruel to me for reasons I never did comprehend. But.. just for once, if I could get that feeling again. The feeling that I had with you, with someone else; someone who doesn't make it their life goal to hurt me constantly- it would be magical, wouldn't it?

Alas, I don't decide these things.

But I've decided let go. I've decided to let go of the hurt and the ill-feelings. I've decided to let go of you, most importantly. And you can't hurt me anymore even if you try.

I hate it that you make me sound like a martyr. Like I'm the only one wounded when you got to walk away unscathed. 

But that's the whole truth. You ended things so abruptly, so.. spitefully as if I'm diseased. You put me in such misery for months. I found out that months of supposed ~love~ turned out to just be a well told lie. I never mattered to you.

I supposed I contradicted myself a little bit in this post since I said I've let go. I should, I know that. I'm suppose to be a good person who forgives and forgets. 

But the quality of mercy is not strained. (This is a misuse of the phrase but I've been itching to use it since forever ;__;)

I suppose when I think about it, I can't really forgive you. Not when you're not even sorry. And I guess I'll carry this ill feelings forever. I'll think I've forgotten about it. And I will outgrow it and it will become an insignificant memory from my past. But always, whenever I see something that reminds me of you, I'll think of the bitterness of it all.

And the fraction of sweet memories will only sadden me.

For once, I want to admit that I haven't forgotten you.

I haven't forgotten any of it.

It's not anger, at least I don't think so. Just a terrible scar I couldn't get rid of.

A scar that, for now, I think would never disappear.