As I am closing in on my big day to move to the new city to start my dream job, I cannot help but wonder if a last conversation with you would make a difference?

All signs point to no, but my heart cannot stop thinking about you as I stare at my phone, hoping your name will pop up.

Would it be too bad to call you?

Honestly, the problem isn’t even you but the fact that I have been romanticizing our dysfunctional relationship for so long. It was never healthy because we did everything in our power to make each other feel like shit.

We zoned in on each other’s insecurities and attacked one another every time we got mad. We apologized, but only to come back and hurt each other more. We never set nor respected each other’s boundaries.

We never cared about the other one’s heart.

We were the couple that inspired people to write our stories and dramatize every part of it because everything about us was so volatile.

We truly loved each other, but we never learned how to treat each other right because we got so used to just being the way we were.

Our love was filled with intensity, but it was fragile, and the passion we shared became more about attacking and displaying more of our insecurities and our past, rather than nurturing our love for the future.

It was only a matter of time till our toxic egos destroyed both of us. We became more vindictive than forgiving. We wanted to keep loving each other but we were unable to stop resenting each other for how much we had hurt one another in the past.

We could never forgive.

You exhausted me and my heart, doubting my every move and intention. I was claustrophobic in my own life with you. We did our best to torture each other as if it were a competition where we desperately wanted to win, when in reality, we were both losing.

We talked about our depression and sadness in our overly self-involved lives because we never considered others and forgot to see the blessings in our privileged lives. We focused so much on each other that we forgot what was really important in life.

We were addicted to the misery that our togetherness brought us. Others would call it unnecessarily dramatic, and we called it passionate, and we were delusional.

I look back and see that it was always about us because we were selfish. We thought we did so much for one another when everything was only about us.

I always loved you, but I started to loathe your presence because I had fallen in love with the fictional version of you in my head and not the insensitive, cheating person you actually were.

Could I have tried to be more vulnerable? Remember when you told me about all the women whose hearts you had managed to break while shamelessly using their bodies for disgusting stories to tell your friends?

You told me I was more special, but I never believed you.

We had so many chances to walk away but we kept coming back to each other because no same person can handle this level of a dysfunctional relationship that isn’t good for anyone.

We kept coming back to each other because we never knew what a healthy relationship was or we enjoyed the chaos that brewed between you and me. We enjoyed the unnecessary madness. We thought we could never find someone better, and we were wrong.

We were so bad for each other because we were the worst versions of ourselves possible when we got together. We inflicted pain and sadness upon each other as if that’s how we were meant to be. We were the worst together.

We only came together to see how much of each other we could destroy. We are the story people might enjoy reading about but never want to witness in real life.

It took me years, but I finally understand that we were never meant to be.