I hope you all realize the feeling I am trying to explain is making me cringe even though I’m not experiencing it at this current moment in time. We’ve all been on both sides of this block (at least I have, and I’m sure I can’t be alone) and its when in the books of our lives, the loves we have mean more to us than we do to them, or vice versa.
But it’s not so much this realization in the moment as it is after-the-fact. It’s when you just can’t move on and you realize that they have, and they don’t care. It is in that moment that you realize they were a chapter in your book, and you were only a paragraph.
It makes you feel pathetic, right? You start thinking how could I be this sad of a person, why didn’t I see this sooner, why didn’t I pick up my pride and walk away? Well, as we all know, its never that simple. And the truth is that there’s nothing wrong or sad or pathetic about it.
It’s just a reality to accept: love isn’t usually equal between two people. You can write chapters about someone, and have their memory infiltrate the rest of your story, almost silently ghost write, only to get to the end and realize you were never mentioned again.
And the only way around it is realizing that these measurements you are applying to your love aren’t real. There is no real way to gauge just how much you affected someone’s life, so don’t waste time trying. Embrace that you loved someone enough to let them affect you like that.