This is what you will do

This is what you do.
You make a new plan. The plan won't involve either of the following: your heart-broken fragility or him.
You realize that you are better off. You realize that he wasn't good at being there when you cried. You realize that he was good at making you laugh. Laughing makes you feel better. How is it better not to laugh?
You pray for a phone call, an acknowledgment. You get nothing.
You write him letters you want to take back and forget.
You think of conversations you want to have with him, things where you are strong and assertive and you make him see that this is all him. It's his fault he dumped you.
And then a day passes. And you wake up feeling better, then worse. Then you realize that today, you will make a plan. Today, you will be happily singularly free. Today you will go to Trigonometry class and history class. Today you will visit your boss and put in your two weeks notice, although now you go to your job to stay busy, and even though you dislike the charming smell of popcorn on your skin and in your clothes, you're afraid for that period in which you struggle to have something to do, somewhere to go.
But life always works out in the end, you remember. Never before have you been stuck out in the streets. Never before have you not felt God's blessings of health and family and understanding on a daily basis... Never before have you been heart-broken.
Never before has he blatantly not cared... but then you remember that he has not cared. When he did the same thing to his last girlfriend, you know he didn't care. So you resolve not to care.
You resolve not to be heart-broken. You resolve that tomorrow is a different day. Tomorrow is a different chance you have to change.
Tomorrow, you will follow your instincts and you will do what is right for you. You will quit, and you will start. Quitting is the first step in starting.
This is what you will do.