Love Is A Suicide

So I came to see Mr. Jetsetter. As you know we’ve been seeing each other again. I’m still hanging around. Hoping and waiting. Fact is, I don’t want to date any other guy but him. I’m still waiting for him to come back and tell me how he feels. We can’t change the past. We can only move forward. Friends have tried to set me up on dates but I’m like nope. I’m not single. No matter how single I tell Mr. Jetsetter that I am. This isn’t a rom-com. It might backfire in my face. Am I doing this for the right reasons. I love him. He loves me or else we wouldn’t be together yet not together? We aren’t Ross and Rachel. Atleast I hope not. I would be super peeved if he did try to ask another woman out, kissed her, hugged her…. Ugh Am I insane? He’s my first real boyfriend, the guy that understands me, calls me out on my shite, has been there through the hardships. I love him. More than he will ever know. The heartbreak is still there.


Sometimes I wish I could tear out my heart and my brain out. Just carve it out or give me a new brain. Make me a “hubot,” synth, robot. But life goes on, right? It’s better to love and feel than to not love or feel at all. Did I commit love suicide or did he? I doubt my decisions to break up, to move, life wasn’t perfect with him but it sure felt like it. What do you think? Did I make the worst decision to leave?


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