When a a person you're close to dies, you still wake up the next day hoping to see their face, to talk to them, and to tell them all about this stupid dream you had of them dying.
It's a punch to the gut when you realise it wasn't a dream.
At the back of your head, you know they're gone and you're just being dumb, but you refuse to let go of them and the comfort they brought. You were so used to them that it feels like they're still there, only it turns out to be a ghost of their memories.
I'm not saying that losing feelings for you hurt me as much as losing my grandfather did. Not even close.
All I'm saying is that I don't think a part of my brain realises that those feelings are gone because your picture still pops in my head when I'm listening to that love song, when I'm reading that poem on unrequited love, or when I'm surfing through Pinterest reading all those love letters. I still think about the times you were sweet to me and they still instantly bring a smile to my face.
I tell myself how foolish I'm being, how you're nothing special and just another one of those fuck boys, how you were rude to me one too many times. I swear, I tell my brain this every second of the day.
But a part of me enjoys having a muse to write about; it enjoys posting pictures online, in the hopes of impressing you somehow. And that juvenile part refuses to let go of you, because even though my feelings are dead, I remember the times they weren't and I remember how much I enjoyed feeling like that.
What I feel for you now is just a ghost of what I used to and I promise I'll let go of you completely someday, but just not yet. I need to write another poem about you first.