There are less thoughts of you, though still my mind idles out of habit to think of you. Not being with you hurts less and staying away, saying no, feigning apathy: all of it is easier. It helps to pretend you’re not there. It helps to block evidence of your presence. It helps that I’m too weary to play games.

Jealousy still trickles through my veins, but the pain of it is tolerable.

I’m sure one of these days I’ll be ripping my heart out again. But for now, the numbing ache is my badge of strength. I think I’m finally strong enough to deny myself the blissful joy of imagining us.