Thinking about it now, I keep wondering how drunk I must’ve been the last 6 years to have been so knee-deep in love with you.
Love. That’s also a word I refuse to let myself use when it came to my feelings with you, because I wasn’t allowed to love you. But, I did, and I’ve finally admitted it. My love for you was one-sided. You never saw it, but as long as you were happy, it was almost enough for me. Almost.
But almost was never enough.
I wanted to be with you. I wanted to be your girl. But nothing I could do or say would ever make you want me back, and I knew that. So, I kept everything shut away in a little corner in my heart. Not even our friends knew about my feelings for you.
I fell in and out of committed relationships with guys that girls could only ever hope of finding. I left good guys for you, hoping my stories of my relationships would make you see how perfect a girlfriend I could be for you. But it still wasn’t enough to make you want me.
Then one day, I decided to tell you how I felt. I told you that I liked you. I didn’t really like you, though. I loved you. But I knew telling you that would scare you away. Just as well that I didn’t, because you rejected me. You told me that nothing could ever happen between us, ever.
I accepted it. At least you were straight with me. It made it easy for me to move on. It made it easy for me to not want you as bad anymore. But something within me still loved you. Something within me refused to let you go. Something within me still wanted you.
2 years passed, and we were still friends. Good friends. Close friends. I learnt to cherish my friendship with you more than anything I could possibly have with you. Your friendship was important to me. We were friends enough for you to be at my birthday party, where you kissed me.
My boyfriend (who I’m still with, by the way), couldn’t be around because of circumstance, but you were. You kissed me and thus began the most difficult year of my life.
You played me. You made me feel like you wanted me just as bad as I wanted you. You brought back the feelings I had for you that I thought I’d finally gotten rid of. You told me you loved me by Freudian slip, and even when I told you that it was okay that you “accidentally” said it, it wasn’t. It played in my head over and over. Did you really love me? Was it safe to tell you that I loved you too?
It didn’t matter.
For the months to follow, you called me over, said I was your baby girl, and that you wouldn’t know how you’d ever manage without me. But you never said “I love you” again.
It still didn’t matter.
Finally, I had enough. I realized you only ever called me up if you just wanted to hook-up. We didn’t go anywhere outside. We were always at your place, or in your carpark. We were never public, and it hurt. I finally had the courage to put a stop to all of it.
But that raised more questions in my head. Did you really want to be my friend? Or did you just want what you knew I couldn’t give you? Was our friendship even remotely genuine anymore?
The questions kept coming, and it drove me insane. I got more paranoid with my friendship with other guys. Were we just friends, or did he want to sleep with me? I was even more paranoid of your twitter account (because I know that’s where you tend to vent). Are these tweets about me? No, wait, but we hadn’t talked in weeks. These couldn’t be. But what if they were?
You confused me. Some days you were nice to me, some days you were cold. I hated it, and I hated you. I didn’t like you anymore.
Months after this ordeal, I’ve forgiven you for the hell you put me through. I’ve forgiven myself for being a fool for you. Yet, one thing still remains.
I still love you.
Today, I’m strong enough to walk away from you. I’m strong enough to be able to tell you “no”, because my life doesn’t depend on you anymore. I can only wish the best for you, and that, whoever you meet in future, she love you the way I loved you, and that you love her too.
I still love you, but I love you enough to finally let you go.