Cloudy. Chilly.

I hate that I still think about you.

I hate that I still miss you.

I hate that I log into my other

Instagram just to see what you’re up to.

I hate that I still watch after you,

even though you never did the same for me.

You never carried my heart or cared for my smile;

you only cared about your own.

And hers.

And even though I knew it was you and not me,

I still knew that I had done something wrong.

I thought about all the hours, days, and weeks we spent laying next to each other.



Making memories, or so I thought.

What we had wasn’t love,

but I loved it.

And now I’m not sure if I can ever love again at all.