I still write about you. And I think there’s no harm in that. There is pain because reminiscing our past would be inevitable, not to mention melancholic and nostalgic all at once. Which isn’t really very healthy. But I think it’s also very therapeutic since I’d get to release all these kept thoughts and emotions. That’s the main goal; to somehow immortalize what we had, and what we’ve been through; to rightfully tell our story to everyone.
Everyone…except maybe you.
I still write about you because you are lot for being just one person. One, you carry with you the greatest love a human being was capable of giving, which is something she’s unsure about giving anymore, or at least willing to, because it’s accompanied with her greatest pain. Second, you have the kindest heart. It’s something that only those who really know you can see. And I happen to know you a lot throughout our time together. It wasn’t a loud type of kindness. You help people without giving yourself credit. And even when they take it for granted, you still forgive. I am still and forever in awe of your ability to forgive. I wish I was that soft.
I still write about you because I need to. Because I
can’t shouldn’t wouldn’t see you anymore, and over the months I realized that I still have so much left to say to you. I want to tell you that I was the happiest and saddest with you. I’ve been both at the same time, too. But I’m not saying these out of spite. Instead I’m telling you these because over the past months, these experiences helped me grow. So I want to thank you for the happy moments, and I’m so sorry for the painful ones. I know you didn’t really mean to hurt me, I know it wasn’t in your list of things to do, but it’s done. You hurt me. I hurt you back. I wished and wished to bring the past back but we can’t. And I’m beginning to accept it all because it’s the only way for us to move forward. And I sincerely hope you move forward.
I still write about you because I want everybody to know that I’m one of the luckiest to have been loved by someone like you. Despite your flaws, you are a genuinely amazing person. I am grateful that you opened yourself up to me and let me in, when you have the hardest time doing that to anyone. You have been loyal. You have been trustful. And you really did love me in the best way that you know you can.
Maybe I’d stop here because I’d eventually run out of things to say. But we both know that isn’t true.
Even then, I’d still write about you. Because you are my sage, my male muse. I’d still find inspiration in our greatest highs and saddest downfalls. Maybe it’s bad. Maybe I’m twisted. But you’ve always known that, right? I consider myself as an artist and we draw inspiration in real life. And in mine, you are the realest thing to ever happen.
I’d stop here. For now. I love you. Forgive me. I’m sorry.
But I’d write about you forever. And if that’s the only kind of forever that we’re fated to have, so be it.