This was written on a receipt in my wallet:
The hardest part isn’t the broken heart or the sleepless night.
It aches, yes. But that’s something that can be defined. I know exactly what it is, why it is and that only time can heal such a thing.
The hardest part is figuring out who I am or was and if I even want to be that person again. How can I be me without you? And perhaps that was my mistake – I poured everything I had into you and you were still empty.
The hardest part is the desperate need to locate my mind. I can tell you what I’m not but I can’t tell you what I am.
Suffocating, drowning in uncertainty like I don't know how to survive.