You Said It Was Real, So How the Fuck Was I So Easy to Erase?

How the fuck could you do that to me?

Seriously.

How do you look someone in the eyes, tell them everything was real, make them feel safe enough to finally let their guard down, and then turn around and act like they never fucking existed?

How?

Because I need to know which part was supposed to make sense.

Was it the part where you told me I mattered?

The part where you made promises?

The part where you made me believe I was safe with you?

Or the part where you walked away and suddenly became completely fucking fine without me?

Because those two versions of you do not match.

You cannot tell me I was important and then treat me like I was disposable.

You cannot tell me what we had was real and then move through life like losing me was nothing.

You cannot tell me you cared and then leave me alone with every memory, every question, every broken promise, every fucking thing you helped create.

And then expect me not to question all of it.

How could you do that to me?

How could you know how hard it was for me to trust you and still become another reason I struggle to trust people?

How could you know how terrified I was of being abandoned and then leave me standing in exactly the place I told you I was scared of?

How could you hold the most vulnerable parts of me in your hands and still decide they were easy enough to drop?

That is the part that fucks with me.

You knew.

You knew what I had been through.

You knew what it took for me to let you in.

You knew I was not casual about you.

You knew I was not playing some stupid little game.

I fucking loved you.

And I believed you.

Maybe that was my mistake.

Maybe I should have kept one foot out the door.

Maybe I should have questioned every nice thing you said.

Maybe I should have treated your promises like bullshit until you proved otherwise.

But I didn’t.

I trusted you.

I let myself believe, for once, that maybe somebody meant what they said.

And now I am the one sitting here trying to figure out how someone can claim something was real while behaving like it was completely fucking forgettable.

Do you understand what that does to someone?

It makes you question every moment.

Every “I care about you.”

Every conversation.

Every plan.

Every soft fucking moment you thought meant something.

You start wondering if they were just saying whatever felt good at the time.

You start wondering if you were just convenient.

You start wondering if the entire relationship meant more to you than it ever did to them.

And I hate that you left me with those questions.

Because I did not deserve that.

I did not deserve to be loved loudly and then forgotten quietly.

I did not deserve to be made to feel chosen just to eventually feel like I was easy to replace.

And before somebody gives me that bullshit about “people move on differently,” I know.

I know people cope differently.

I know some people shut down.

I know some people distract themselves.

I know somebody can look perfectly fine and still be hurting.

But there is still something incredibly fucked up about being the person left behind watching someone continue their life like you were never part of it.

Because while you are moving forward, I am having to teach myself how to stop looking backward.

While you are building new memories, I am still trying to figure out what the old ones meant.

While you are living like normal, I am trying to convince myself that your absence does not mean I was worthless.

And maybe you never meant to make me feel that way.

But you did.

Your silence did.

Your distance did.

The way you seemingly switched everything off did.

You made me feel like I could disappear from your life and it would barely leave a fucking dent.

And that hurt worse than the breakup itself.

Because heartbreak is one thing.

Feeling erased is another.

I can understand a relationship not working.

I can understand timing being wrong.

I can understand people changing.

What I cannot understand is how you can go from making someone feel like they are part of your world to acting like they were barely even a footnote.

So yes, I am angry.

I am fucking furious.

Not because you owe me forever.

Not because I think you were supposed to stay no matter what.

But because I deserved honesty.

I deserved consistency.

I deserved not to be made to feel crazy for believing the words you were saying to me.

And if it really was real, then I deserved an ending that did not make me question whether I imagined the whole goddamn thing.

That is what I wanted.

Not begging.

Not chasing.

Not forcing somebody to love me.

Just fucking honesty.

If you stopped loving me, say that.

If you changed your mind, say that.

If you realized you could not give me what you promised, fucking say that.

But do not tell me it was real and then treat me like I was nothing.

Do not hand me those words like they are supposed to comfort me when your actions tell a completely different story.

Because “it was real” does not feel comforting when I am the only one who seems wrecked by the ending.

It feels cruel.

It feels like being handed a beautiful explanation for something that still destroyed me.

And maybe one day I will stop asking how you could do this.

Maybe one day I will realize that I was never going to get an answer that actually made it hurt less.

Maybe the answer is simply that you were capable of leaving.

And I was capable of loving you anyway.

But right now, I am still pissed.

I am pissed that I trusted you.

I am pissed that you became another fucking lesson.

I am pissed that someone I saw a future with became somebody I have to learn how to live without.

I am pissed that I am the one healing wounds created by somebody who once promised they would never hurt me.

And more than anything, I am pissed that part of me still misses you.

Because after everything?

After all the silence, distance, confusion, and pain?

Some stupid part of my heart still remembers the person you were before you became the person who could walk away.

And that might be the cruelest part of all.

But one day, I am going to stop asking how you could live without me.

I am going to stop watching to see whether you regret it.

I am going to stop needing proof that I mattered to you.

Because whether you admit it or not, I know what I gave.

I know how deeply I loved.

I know how fucking hard I tried.

And if you can lose that and move on like it was nothing?

That says something about you.

It does not define me.

You can act like I never existed.

You can bury every memory.

You can become a stranger.

But you will never change the fact that I was real.

My love was real.

My effort was real.

My heartbreak was real.

And one day, my healing is going to be real too.

And that will be the part of the story you no longer get to be in.