It’s her.

She’s always in my thoughts, always clouding my vision.

And still in my life, three years later.

I see her almost every day. Being smart used to be a privilege, an excuse to see her. Now, it’s a punishment, condemning me to watch her succeed, watch her live her life without any interference from me.

Then again, should I be sad that she moved on? I should be happy. Am I enough of a heartless jerk that I don’t want her to be happy? Or is it simply that I want to help?

It was all my fault, or maybe it wasn’t. The circumstances surrounding our split weren’t exactly ideal. She was never in a good mood, and never seemed to want to see me. She thought I complained too much, and I thought she bragged too much. It’s always about how she’s better, even though I think she knows she’s not.

And it’s slowing me down. I can’t act the way I normally could.

Damnit, I’m wearing her shirt! The shirt she bought me!

And still I sit, sitting and wondering. Will she ever leave? Will I ever let it rest?

sigh