4 years, 4 months, and still counting, that’s how long I’ve been in love with you.

2 years and 8 months was the span of us being together. I broke up with you because our relationship was becoming toxic. But after the break-up, we became the best of friends because we decided that we knew too much of each other to just become strangers all of a sudden. Then, a month after our break-up, you went ballistic over me because I went with one of your friends. You didn’t talk to me for 8 months.

During those 8 months, I was with one guy after another and we were talking shit about each other. But after 3 guys and a thousand hate words, we talked again. We became friends, again. This time it was different. We were getting close like how we were before and soon enough; we were back to normal. Not together but together kind of way. We were happy again, I was happy again. We love each other and it seemed like that was it for us. But I guess I had to be my idiot self and ruin it by going after someone again.

I thought choosing this guy would make me happy. I thought choosing him would solve all the complicated problems in my head. But, I guess I was wrong. I chose him even though I still know that I’m in love with you. I was blinded by thinking about what my family would’ve wanted and what would’ve made them happy that I forgot to think about myself too.

Now, 4 months have passed since we last talked and I know I’m still in love with you. I know you’re with someone better and yes, that’s what I wanted for you. I just can’t help but think about all the what if’s. What if I didn’t break up with you? What if I never went for other people? What if I stayed with you? What if I chose you over everything and everyone? Do you think we would be happy like how I imagined it?

I kept on convincing myself that it was your fault why we became this way, that it was you who ruined us, that I was mad at you for hurting me, that you were the one who gave up and left me.

I turned into this bitter person that I promised I wouldn’t let myself become. Then I convinced myself that I was happy without you because you weren’t worth it, that I was happy I ended it because you were ruining me.

But in reality, this is all my fault. I was the one who ruined us. I was the one who hurt you. I was the one who gave up and left. I was the one who wasn’t worth it. I was the one who was ruining you by dragging you down with me while you were helping me fix myself. I kept on convincing myself that you fucked it all up for us but, no. I did it, I fucked up.

I led myself to believe that I’m completely moved on because I have a “stable” relationship and a “happy” life. But really, you’re the one who has all these. I’ve accepted that I’m lonely and I ruined the one thing that could make me happy. Truth is, you weren’t the one who fucked up because I’m the one who’s still not moved on.