Slowly, sneakily.
It'll take over you, consume you, before you know it.
You're helpless. You're heartbreakingly vulnerable.
Nothing works, it never really goes away.
It can strike when you're in a room full of people. You want to end it all and jump off, a spur of the moment bad decision perhaps. But the instinct is worrying. What if you really do one fine day?
Or it can come to you when you're alone, lonely.
There's no cure.
It is what it is.
You try and think of happy times when you were yourself. But it doesn't help. Memories seem fuzzy and quite frankly, a little bit stupid.
You felt something. You really did.
It wasn't a selfish kind of love.
It wasn't the greatest you felt, but there was potential.
And now you're wondering what you did wrong to be in this hellhole.
It was clearly something you did wrong.
Blame yourself, never someone else
It kills you to think that it meant nothing to thw other party concerned.
Nothing at all.
You were everyday meat.
He was special.
You were a nobody.
Heartbreak is always so savage.