The moving on

You'll see remnants.
Bits and pieces.
Shadows.
Blur.

Want as you don't but it's there, lingering. Sometimes roughshod and hurtful but that's what remains after a sad ol' breakup. Even cry for a picayune song played over the radio. And you will realize the futile what-if's and maybe's that you should have done and had done but never came apodictic.

You want to get even.
You wish everything swingeing to happen.
You'll curse the day he was born.
And even stalk and pall the hell out of him.
But reality will bite and you will still CARE.

Had he seen your worth while the embraces were tepid? Did he even care while the moans were tender? What was his thoughts when the kiss was perfect?
Three questions out of the millions you draft are not even answerable by YES or a NO and the only thing that you can do is whisper it to the air hoping and praying that it will reach his ears and hear what he has to say.

Most of the times, you only want to hear what you want to hear. You select what you want to see. And you'll see yourself virulent and hurtful. So condescending but that's what happens, do correct me as I am still on that phase and stage.