He's Gone.

I've been gleaming on here lately about my fabulous relationship with Bryant.
I hate to report though, that he left me.

It was a few weeks ago. He came to my house with a stressed look on his face, which forced me to inquire what was wrong.
He looked at me with a sympathetic look, and said "I think you know."

No, no, no, please, god, no. Fuck, no. No. No. No.
I panicked. I didn't want it to end. I loved him too much. I couldn't live without him. And if it turns out that I could, I didn't really care to try.
Curse words were thrown at him, accusations as well, and even one very angrily hurled glass picture frame- which missed his head.
He cried, I cried.
He told me that he's been toying with the idea for weeks (And no, his words weren't so eloquent, they were more like "I was wantin' to do this for like, 2 weeks now.") and he confessed that he didn't have the nerve before.
He said he didn't want to be with me anymore.

He told me he had stopped loving me.

I screamed in his face, reminding him that that hadn't stopped him from fucking me just two days before, and telling me that he loved me.
"Yeah, I shouldn't have done that." God damn right you shouldn't have.
The whole situation makes me wonder,
-Did he ever love me?
-Would he miss me?
-If I hadn't asked him what was wrong, how much longer would he have stayed?
-What was wrong with me?
-.... Would he remember me forever, or forget me all too soon?

He helped me carefully pick up the glass shards from my floor, held me while I cried, recalled a few good times with me, reassured me that he would miss me and that he already regretted the decision, and cried with me for a while.

And then, in an instant, he was gone.
And so was I.

I will say, my reactions to the split were not handled well. Tears were shed in public, and I kissed another in the hopes of getting Bry from my mind.
It didn't work quite as planned. Instead, I just felt guilty.

That is, until I saw him, and how well he was handling it.
He acted unaffected, as though he was happy to finally be rid of me. That thought is the one that keeps me up at night, sweating and feeling uneasy.
Six months of my life, wasted. Because he never did care at all.

I think of him everyday, probably because we attend the same school, and I have to see, hear, feel, and smell him every single day. It's torture.
I know things would have never worked out the way I wanted them to, but I wanted things to end on my terms, my way.
I didn't want to end up as the broken one.

I guess it's my own stupid fault for taking the plunge to begin with.
I miss him.
I love him.

He forgot all about me, forgot to care.
But I still remember everything.
And I've pleaded my case.

My feelings remain 100% the same about him,
the only difference now is that he's gone.
And consequently, I am too.