I write because you hurt me, because you decided you were done.
I write because I miss you.
I write because you only told me you loved me when I was slipping between the cracks of your fingers. Those cracks are the same place where my fingers used to fit perfectly.

But not anymore.
Now you’re all goo-goo with some other bitch.
And I hope she treats you well.
I hope she gives you as many wet pillows and sleepless night as you gave me.

I write because those nights the notepad was the only person that would listen to me. The only person that paid me any attention.

It never complained, or shut me out when I needed to vent.
It always accepted me for who I am.
I write to heal.