I think that you’re forgetting about me because you’re getting so caught up with what you’re doing. I often wonder if you’re ever laying in bed at night and think or wonder about me. I remember you telling me as much as you hate it, you’re honestly done with me. I hate blaming myself for things that happen, because I know that if I had done something a little differently, none of this would’ve happened. Sometimes I try to make myself believe that everything happens for a reason, and maybe we just aren’t meant to be. Sometimes I try to tell myself that time will heal this heartbreak.