• Dear W

    by  • January 2, 2017 • Heartbreak • 0 Comments

    It’s been more than a year and you still make me cry. Congratulations. You meant the world to someone but you decided to leave. And now she’s crying. And she thought she has nothing left for you. Well she thought wrong. I thought wrong.
    Here’s the thing. You picked me. Of all the people you could have chosen you fucking picked me. A nerd with a face full of acne scars who’s awkward at conversations, has poor social skills, listens to music no one else listens to, but most importantly, a girl who believed no one will ever fall in love with her until you came along. And then once it was no longer convenient to keep me around you left.
    Of course before you left you had to tell me that everything we had was real, that you still love me, but this was for the best. And of course I believed you. For me you were an angel I didn’t want to blame you for anything. It was my fault, it was all my fault, it’s got to be. You were the best thing that ever happened to me, there’s no way you’d ever want to hurt me. It has got to be me, there has got to be something wrong with me.
    But it wasn’t me, was it? I mean you said it too, I just never believed it. I still don’t.
    It was both of us, but it was contained it was fine until I did something and it overflowed. We couldn’t contain it anymore and we no longer know what to do.
    Look, I’m sorry for being overly needy and possessive and that I needed you to tell me that you love me again and again. But it was like a dream for me, I had you and you were real and you were in love with me and I was too. And that never happened to me, so I kept wanting to make sure that it’s real. I perpetually needed to be reassured that it wasn’t just a dream that I’ll wake up from one day and everything will be gone.
    But that was exactly what happened. And I kind of saw it happening but I kind of didn’t. I refused to believe that we were broken beyond repair. Of course we were, I can see that now, as I’ve said before, love can only be blind for so long. How long it can hurt is a different story.
    I’m back to the person I was before I met you. I know, I should have learned that I am worthy of love after I met you. Instead I believe that you’re the only one that will ever love me, except you’ve stopped loving me long ago. Even before you left.
    It’s easy for you isn’t it? You’ve got your charms, you know how to flirt. You probably have found a bunch of girls you liked already. And you probably have had your fair share of conversing and touching and loving and kissing with at least some of them, haven’t you? Good for you.
    You know what, I shouldn’t even care. But why do I, still? I shouldn’t care if you’re seeing other girls, if you started smoking, if you’re drinking beer and talking about life with another girl like we used to. It shouldn’t matter to me anymore. But it fucking does. Fuck.
    I wanted you to suffer the way I did. I wanted you to shed as much tears as I shed for you. Did I tell you I cried so much tears stopped coming out of my eyes? I probably did. I wanted you to regret leaving me and I wanted you to talk to me. Tell me you’re sorry, tell me you’re not, I don’t fucking care! Just, talk to me. Help me out here. Because right now I don’t even know if anything ever happened between us because I feel like I’m the only one feeling these things and you’re fucking fine. You’re happy and I don’t cross your mind anymore.
    I kept everything. Ticket stubs, parking tickets, price tags, receipt, pictures. Hell, even if I throw them all away I am still cursed by the accuracy of my own memory. I don’t want to remember but I can’t forget. How come I still remember some of our conversations word by word. How come I still remember the colors of your shirts the color of the coffee mug you had at that cafe we went to the expressions you made in your selfies you sent me that photo you sent me after we fought the tone of your voice the pauses you made when I called you that day and you told me you wanted to break up with me. It’s been more than one fucking year! Why can’t I just forget you?
    Haven’t I cried enough for you?


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