He's gone.
He's gone.
I should be happy about this right?
He can no longer torture me with those ridiculously tight jeans.
He can no longer seduce me with his angelic voice.
He's gone.
So everything should be fine.
I should have stopped thinking about him.
I should no longer expect to see him sashaying around the corner.
He should have stopped haunting my dreams.
He's gone, so I should be fine.
But I'm not.
It hurts.
A dull ache in my chest that refuses to leave.
He's gone, and yet he's not.