I loved you despite knowing that we would be nothing but another love story about unrequited feelings.
A lot of people say, and truly believe, that you must love yourself before loving someone else, and I don’t accept that.
I thought love was a solution to life, to all the ups and downs, family drama, sadness, and loneliness. To my surprise, I was in love and the most alone I had ever felt.
I don’t know if it’s true at this point: If I’ve really moved on or if that’s something I tell myself to sleep better at night.
I want to love you because, damn, you deserve it, and that’s why I have to admit to both you and I that we’re no longer the best thing for each other.
I feel cold and lonely in a world that you once lit up.
I had forgotten that love was coming home to a hug after a long day at work. Love was having someone to laugh with over takeout. Love was having someone to go through life with.
He made me feel as if being infinite was something attainable.
Feelings like that don’t disappear into thin air.
Love was messy, complicated even, and from the standpoint of someone striving for simplicity, the prospect of finding love never appealed to me.