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Out of Your Head

I saw you and I knew you by the way you walked. My heart sped up and my brain grew foggy.

There you were.

I had been thinking about how I hadn't been missing you as much only minutes before—no lie.

I had been thinking about the hole in my heart, where you once fit so perfectly, and how it was mending...so you couldn't fit any more.

Immediately I knew you weren't happy, immediately I could see something was off.

I hated how well I knew you.
I hated how much I cared.
I hated how fast my heart was racing.
And I even hated how much I desperately wanted to make you smile again...and make you laugh.

Suddenly I was missing all of those things about you. All of those little things—possibly most of all your laugh.

I bid you adieu as you drove away with a silly face and your smile returned with a laugh I couldn't hear from outside your window.

I did it. And it made my heart swell.

Suddenly, you were all I could think about.
Finding a dress no longer seemed important.
It was now my mission to figure out why your face read like an open book in big, red letters: angry. Tired of the world.

I thought that maybe I was over you this time, that maybe I could move on and grow up and meet someone who made more sense for me to love.

Maybe if love weren't a disease and you weren't the cure for the ache it left inside of me—maybe I could.

Maybe if you weren't my kryptonite and my guilty pleasure and my sky full of stars and ray of light between the gloomy clouds—maybe I could.

Maybe love isn't supposed to make sense.

Diseases don't.

And what if it didn't truly matter what others thought about how absolutely terrible this feeling inside of me has become. Terrible meaning amazing. Terrible meaning terribly beautiful. Terribly, tragically, catastrophically the best feeling I have felt in my entire life.

I could be kidding myself.
Though, am I?

Get him out of your head.
Get him out. Out.
Out.
Out.
Out.
Out.
Out
of
your
head.