That post-breakup period is usually the worst, your mind drums up tortured images of your times together; of the times together you missed; of her wrongs; your wrongs; twisted half-remembered versions of maybe you should have done this; maybe you shouldn’t have done this; to make her feel your pain? Let her heart bleed as yours exsanguinated unstemmed? Questions questions.
Nights rolling on your mattress and pounding the wall, all in your mind really. Outside you must be the picture of calm, unemotional, logical, calculating, nothing moves or shakes you while the world passes you by, friends talking and laughing in the other room (are they laughing at me? Do they know?) While you stay in, isolated, alone, painting the faux impressive picture of a loner yet black and truly lonely.
Liar! You hurt and hurt and hurt, scared and pensive that letting people in will make things worse, that they’ll not meet up, and they’ll get tired of your neediness, shit* ** **
*A knock on the door