I thought I had been in love before. Felt something real. I didn’t believe in “the one”, and believed that nobody was supposed to be together forever. But nonetheless I felt like I had experienced what everyone believed was so special. I was a realist and given my past, it was more than expected to stray away from false hope.
I was damaged when I met you.
I met you through a book. That incredible book.
I’d never met anyone who had the exact same taste in books as me. Dark, strange, books that made you think, books that made you feel.
I fell in love with that book as fast as I fell in love with you.
I had never felt that before.
That immediate and overwhelming connection to a person.
We were dating within a week.
The next 6 months were the happiest of my life. People tend to throw that phrasing around so loosely, but I had never felt such extreme contentment, such worth.
I always knew you were leaving.
We ignored it until we couldn’t and then you were gone.
I never told you that I loved you.
The way we were, I guess I figured it was implied. Or it only would have made it harder to let go if you had known.
It changed nothing for me.
We didn’t believe in long distance, neither of us believing it wouldn’t prolong an inevitable end. I had broken up with my last serious boyfriend of 4 years because I thought long distance was naive.
But I would have for you.
Full well knowing, I would have grasped at anything to keep you at all.
You were gone in every sense.
Every second of every day, you are all that fills my mind.
Every minute you aren’t, it’s a conscious effort.
You cope by cutting me off as much as an awkward residual friendship will allow.
How does one cope with the loss of something that was never broken? You and I talked about how hard it would be to deal when we were both so annoyingly happy.
I visited you after 3 months of our blissful ignorance of what we both had lost.
I can’t do this.
You are the only thing I’ve ever needed.
How can it possibly be better to have loved and lost?
The memory of the only thing I could ever feel something real for haunting anything I could ever be.
I hope you can get past this.
I hope if I die they give you my journal.