Can’t get away

Your presence lingers. Why do you still haunt me? It’s not that I still love you. It’s not that I miss you.

I’ll be honest—I probably look for your qualities in other people. I crave the feeling I had with you when I’m with someone else.

Somehow, you’ve changed me at a fundamental level. My self-concept is reduced to nothing, and my confidence feels unstable.

I fear that the way you looked at me in the end is how other women will see me—with a cold, apathetic, empty gaze, holding neither love nor hatred toward me.

At some point, you did care, but that changed because of me. To think that the last girl never felt anything for me but entertained me reminded me so much of you. I imagine she is similar to who you are today, which, I’d say, is something to be proud of. But knowing now that she never truly cared about me hurts, because I opened my heart to her—stupidly so.

I am deeply flawed, and our relationship failed because of that. To think that no one will be capable of looking past those flaws frightens me. Despite how hard I work to grow, there are some things I just fear are so innate. Things about me that haven’t changed since I was with you.

This is why you still have such a strong hold over me today. I still feel so much shame and regret.

I just want to be loved and cherished for who I am, including the worst parts of myself. I don’t know what to do, and I can’t get away.