Now this is what I call progress:
I haven’t thought about you
in 13 days, 12 hours, and 46 minutes,
but who’s counting?
Not me, surely.
I’m sure you could hear the laugh in my words
as you read that out loud,
thought of me reading it out loud.
My voice used to crack with fake confidence
and now I’m just filled with
I can’t wait for the day
you see me on the street
happy with someone else
and neither one of us feels
those mutual follows where you’ve never spoken but you quietly reblog things from each other every now and then
If I punch myself and it hurts, am I too weak or too strong?
Holy fuck this messed me up