I have written about you a lot. Almost everyday since we ended the letters come spewing out of me as easily as the untightening of a belt after a day of work.

My writers callus burns. my throat itches with words it was always meant to say but never got the chance to. I never will.

I’m sick and tired of writing to you to be honest. I’m sick and tired of thinking about you. I simply want to think of nothing for a long, long time. That’s what I want but I will never make things easy for myself.

The memories hurt not because they are painful but because of the constantly replay that is being done in my head. Every moment in excruciating detail. I keep seeing the big green eyes of one who used to be madly in love.

Why after all this pain, exhaustion, sickness, hurt, do I still want you.

I am disgustingly in love with you. I am revoltingly loyal to you. It makes me sick to my stomach.