I know I shouldn’t be writing this.
It’s just opening up old wounds that have just begun to heal, but I can’t help it.
I haven’t been able to talk to anyone about this, and I really need to get this off my chest
I know that breaking up was the right thing to do in the long run. I know that. I know that in the long run, we probably wouldn’t have worked out, and that it was better for the both of us. I know all of that. But that still doesn’t keep me from wishing I never did it in the first place.
I also know that you are over me. I mean, I guess I don’t know, but I’ve pretty much assumed. You’ve never given me any reason of late to think that you weren’t over me. I mean, it’s been over a month since we broke up, and you seem fine, so it seems safe to think that you’re over me. That could be wrong, but still. I know I shouldn’t say this, because in the past I was wrong in thinking that you were over me, but I get the feeling that this time it’s the truth.
I also know that I am so glad that over the past couple of weeks, we’ve been able to hang out a little and talk like normal. I’ve missed having you in my life so much, and I’m so glad you’re back in it, even if it’s nothing like it was before.
But I miss having your arm around me, the comfort of your smile, of your lips on mine, of just knowing that you were there, of knowing that you were mine and only mine. I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t even think like this. Because the thing is, a good part of me is over you. Most of my heart knows that it was good, and that it’s for us both to move on. Most of it is over you.
But part of my heart, and I’m not sure how much, but part of it will never get over you. Part of it will always love you. And I don’t know how strong that part is, and if it will ever end up taking over the rest of me. But I do know that even if it did, you won’t be there waiting for me, but you will always be there for me, though it will be just as a friend. So thank you, at least for that.
Did I mess up? Or did I only do what was right? The more I think about it, the more I begin to doubt myself. What mess did I get myself into?
I miss you. I think I still love you.