Sometimes, I think this is all just an illusion. Layers and layers of self-deception, the lies of others that we happily accept, the impossible dreams we chase, the lies we tell others desperate to believe in the happy ending. Today I saw the ex-boyfriend and I felt nothing until I remembered how quickly he told me he loved and how much I wanted to believe him. I did. And then I remembered how quickly it was over. And how quickly he replaced with a new, more beautiful, skinnier girlfriend. I wonder if he tells her he loves her. Or whether he thinks about me when he fucks her. Does he fuck her the way he did me? The violence I loved. Does she make him hurt her too? Does he tell her it's the best sex he's ever had too? When he looks at her body is he grateful he dumped me? Does she love him the way I did?
And I think it's all a lie. The lies we tell each other because we want to pretend that we're in love, that we're loved, that we're real, that we matter. And truly we don't. The realisation that you're utterly replacable is heart breaking. I want to cling to some memory of him but everything seems so tarnished and fake and transitory. I want to believe I was loved but I can't. And I want to so badly.