It was easy saying I was over you. I hadn't seen you in a while, we hadn't talked for a long time, and the last time your lips touched mine seemed so long ago that I could have sworn a whole year had passed by when actually only a few months had.

It was easy saying I was over you. It was easy even believing it. I didn't have to see you or talk to you, so it was easy.

Until I noticed a car that looked exactly like yours, or I saw someone on the street whose hair had the exact shade of brown yours had, and I thought that maybe, believing I was over you wasn't that easy. But that's okay, because that wasn't your car, yours had a scratch on the front from that time you were showing me how to park, and because although it looked like your hair, I knew it wasn't yours, because yours always looked a bit messier.

But then one day I saw you, the real you, walking down the street and in that split second my heart started racing and my mind started searching for the right words and then I realised how it wasn't easy at all.

Getting over you wasn't easy at all.