how a hoarder probably feels

mostlyfiction:

Loving someone doesn’t always mean
being happy, and if I were able to
I’d take back all of the drunk text messages
I had ever sent to you. Because that was when
I was at my most vulnerable, and that
was when you told me that you had enough,
and that you wanted time apart.
But instead of just seeing your side
I told you that your insides were
as rotten as the apple cores that remain
in the garbage can in the corner
of my room, and for some reason,
even if the smell is hardly bearable,
I still cannot find the energy within myself
to empty out the trash. I guess that
you and the junk in my room
have something in common;
even if it’s time to give it up,
I cannot seem to part
with something so useless.