I wish I could write you an email. Just press send and be done with it. But apparently I have too much self-respect, or at least that’s what I tell myself.   Sometimes I think is just fear paralyzing me as usual.   Sometimes I wish my pain were unshared. I wish I were the only leaving soul with this wrecked heart and I knew for a fact that no one had their existence questioned because the pain of moving on was unbearable.   I wish you thought of me every time you fuck her. I even wish you couldn’t fuck her at all. I wish you could crawl to my feet and I would have the strength to crush you as you crushed me.   Is this human?   Nothing else compares to the need of being loved or set right.   Even when you thought that you moved on you’re set back by the most insignificant thing. Again you become the worst version of yourself, the one you swear you can’t recognize but …