I still remember what your cologne tastes like. I’m ready to be done with you. With flinching when someone says your name (even when they’re not talking about you), when I see your stupid car drive by, rolling past your number in my phonebook, walking past that restaurant we used to eat at (I still remember what you’d order and how many drinks you’d have before deciding you were full). I hate waiting for your phone call and damn that song when it plays on the radio. How does the radio know when I miss you most? Sometimes I wish we’d never met, the hurt is too overwhelming and I want to curl into a tight ball until I fade away into nothingness. My friends and the female-empowerment songs I listen to say I’m better off without you, I’m stronger because of your fire and brimstone. But in the end all I can say is I loved you more than you could know, I miss what we had, but I’m ready to cut this ball and chain and not be suspicious of someone who kisses me on the forehead, and stop hiding in my room on the anniversary of that day we slow danced in the parking lot and I kissed your hand and thought you would be mine forever.