My ex has moved his last bit of stuff out of the apartment today after breaking up with me two months ago. As much as it is a relief, it still hurts to look at the empty walls, to sit there alone at night in a place that was suppose to be ours. This nauseating constant reminder of the relationship that I wanted to work so bad, yet it failed and failed miserably. Though he, for the most part, treated me horribly, I still tend to think of all the good times we had, the things we did, and the plans we made. When we broke up I not only lost my boyfriend, I lost a family, a lover, and best friend. That is a lot to take in all at once, a lot to deal with. Two months later I still struggle with putting the happy face on and not crying my eyes out. It’s still a fresh wound that I’m left to nurse. Another scar I’m stuck with to remind me how much love hurts.