I never had dreams before you.
And then I only dreamt when things went bad between us. Waking up without you, feeling very acutely that I was alone.
When I think of us, it doesn’t hurt like it’s supposed to. It just aches. Because I know that whatever we had, what once felt so special, now, means nothing.
Sometimes I wonder if you ever think of me. If you ever look at that bed we used to share and miss us in it. But then, I think I already know the answer, because I rarely do myself.
I just don’t understand. I thought you were my first love—in those moments, you used to say to me, no one could ever love you as much as I do, and I believed you.
So then, why, when I think of you, do I feel such apathy?
It doesn’t suit the love I thought we had.