I am physically incapable of moving from you. I’ve tried, I’ve being trying. From the moment you said you don’t love me, I knew I lost you. I tried to move on while still fighting for that last little shred of your heart that still reserved for me. I’ll never move on. I’ve tried deleting you. I don’t have all your pictures anymore, but the smiles from all the pictures I used to have permanently burned into the crevices of my brain. I’ve tried drowning you in alcohol, but the burning sensation of vodka sliding down my throat can never mask the pain of me whispering your name into my pillow at three in the morning. I’ve tried distracting myself with a job, but the weight of the change in my pocket will never be as heavy as my heart was when you uttered the words “I don’t love you anymore.” I’ve tried slicing my skin to pieces, but the feel of opening my body with a hidden blade will never make me feel as cold as you did when you said, “I will never be with you again.”