I really am over you now. You are reduced to an inspiration I use for the fiction that I right. And its not even the real you that I use, but rather a biased representation of my idea of you that only existed in reality for a couple of months when you genuinely did feel the same things as I did. You can’t tell me that you didn’t, because you did. And I will cherish that until the day that I do find someone who is nothing like you, but makes me feel a hundred times better than you ever did.