But I can't seem to write about anything else. I can't seem to think about anything else.
It took us 7 years to get to where we were and it only took him 4 months to give up.
I can't make sense of it. Most of my time is spent wondering why he decided to leave, why he couldn't find it in his heart to try and make it work, why he no longer needed and wanted me the way I did. All day long I ask myself the same questions: How did I fail him? What did I do wrong? Is it really over?
It doesn't help that I've been dreaming about him too often. Dreams of him with his arms around me or receiving a text from him that reads I miss you. Dreams that remind me of how much I love him. Dreams that used to have a possibility of being real but now they are just that and they are all I have left--Dreams. Waking up is a reminder of what I lost and what I miss.
I still carry around the poem he wrote for me on my notebook. It's the nicest thing he's ever given me and sometimes I still read it so I can manage to smile a little. I would have torn the pages apart by now but I can't muster enough strength to do so. Like the rest of our memories together, it's just way too precious to destroy.
I watched him change into a person I wasn't familiar with. He grew distant. But I can't bring myself to be angry because it's not like he cheated on me or lied to me. If anything, he was honest to a fault. Why would I accuse him of being true to his feelings?
If there's anyone to blame, it is me. Like an unspecified sixth sense, I heard it in the guarded tone of his voice whenever we would talk and I saw it in the lifeless eyes that would look back at me. I want to be the person to make him happy but that would only be like trying to revive someone after they flatline. I blame myself for not acknowledging that he had already checked out on me way before he ended things. I want to bop myself in the head for making myself believe that things would go back to the way they were, for telling myself that I was just being paranoid by thinking that he was probably no longer inlove with me.
It was sometime last month when I realized that I didn't have much time left with him. Like a prisoner on death row, I knew my time was coming but I was still hoping for pardon. But pardon never came, and maybe if I was strong enough to admit that, I wouldn't feel like such a wreck.
People keep asking me why I put up with it, why I played along for over 2 months, why I allowed myself to be treated in such an unloving way. The truth is, I never had to put up with him. I accepted him. And if there's anything I've learned, it's that love is acceptance. And just as he accepted me for everything that I am, I accepted him for everything that he is, even if he changed. I wasn't ready to throw in the towel but I guess he was. It takes two to tango, they say. As much as I wanted for the relationship to survive, there was no way it could if I was dancing alone.
"I was happier when we were just friends", that line plays in my head like a broken record and each time, it kills me...little by little, bit by bit. I've been trying to hold it together, really, even if I want to rip my heart out of my chest every fucking minute.
And I wish I could lick my wounds as easily as rubbing pencil marks on paper. But I'm just not built that way.
For now, I just want to be okay. I'm not even aiming for happiness, that's like reaching for the moon.
I just want to be okay.
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