Dear wolf, my safety blanket.
We’ve been playing this game back and forth for awhile now. And I know, I know I should let you go before you get burned again. But I can’t let go of the control I have over this. I can’t let go of the control you hold over me. It’s a power struggle and I’m losing.
I fell down and needed someone to pick me up. And you did, it was you. Always you. But now you belong to someone else, and it kills me to know you belong to some other girl who is probably better than me. Am I crazy to believe we still have a chance?
(Maybe I’m just naive to have hope when you’re halfway across the world.)
But my heart beats for you. It fucking thumps in my chest, and it doesn’t calm down. I’ve experienced so many different types of relationships, but it always bounces back to you. Like I was fucking made for you.
(*Am I your soulmate?)
(*Do you still love me?)
(*Do you think of me?)
(*Do you miss me like I miss you?)
You’re the rage crawling throughout my body trying to claw it’s way out of every hole I have.
You’re the fucking rain, when everything goes wrong.
And I’m so mad at you. I’m so mad at you for leaving me when I needed you. I’m so fucking mad at always playing the victim when I fucked up. I’m so mad you never gave us a fighting chance.
I’m so fucking mad, because when I picture my babies, I don’t see anything else but you.
I’m so fucking angry all the time, because you walked away. Because I pushed you. Because losing you was easy, but trying to move on and put on a brave face was fucking horrible.
You killed a piece of me. You fucking stomped on it. And I thought it was okay, that you didn’t fucking matter, and that I was a grown up.
I won’t sit here and fucking blame you on my childish actions that lead us to where we are today. I won’t sit here and cry over my broken heart.
I will fucking miss you.
I will always mourn the fact we never had a chance.
But I won’t sit here and make you feel bad anymore.
I will move on from the fact that I fucked us up so badly that I think you can’t even stand the thought of looking at me.
I’ll move on. I’ll pretend to be happy until I actually am.
And when you get married, and you have children, I’ll act like I’m not fucking breaking inside.
Because this is it. I’m giving you a ticket out. And fuck you, because this hurts me more than you’ll ever know.
But I’m giving you a chance to leave my life.
I’ll delete all of the letters I’ve ever written about you. I’ll delete all of the fucking pictures. I’ll let you breathe without the weight of me holding onto you. I’ll let you live the life you should.
I’ll move on, and I’ll meet a guy who doesn’t quite understand me like you do. I’ll pretend to be really deeply in love with him. And maybe someday I will be. But it won’t be the same as the fucking love I have for you.
It won’t be the same force I have pounding at my chest day in and day out.
Our loss will grow into something beautiful. Our loss will make our next choices better.