bitemarks on my tongue.

I still care. But eventually, I won't. Eventually, I'll hear your name and not feel a flutter in the pit of my stomach. Eventually, I'll be able to listen to The Used again. Eventually, I'll order sushi on my own. Eventually, every tall, thin, mop-headed kid won't remind me of you. Eventually, I won't be bothered with the incessant what-ifs and what-might've-beens. Eventually, none of this will matter, and I won't care.

'Til then, I'll fake it, and you'll never know any differently.

xX