You weren’t my boyfriend, but we still played the part of the infatuated couple who couldn’t seem to get enough of each other.

You weren’t my boyfriend, but you still took me to meet your parents and told your sister about me and said your family would accept me as “one of their own”.

You weren’t my boyfriend, but you still texted me every day and called me every night just to make sure you knew what I was doing and who I was with.

You weren’t my boyfriend, but you still pretended like you were, even though you scoffed at the label and said we were just “doing us”.

You weren’t my boyfriend, but that doesn’t mean I’m not heartbroken over us. And the fact of the matter is that it didn’t make it hurt less when you changed your mind about me, and it didn’t soften the blow when you found someone new, and it didn’t salvage whatever friendship we threw away when we decided to try to be something more.

That’s the problem with almost relationships — we just try to pretend they’re not happening in hopes that it won’t hurt later on, but in the end we’re left just as broken as we would be if we were an “us” and not just a “you and me”.

You weren’t my boyfriend, but I still loved you, and that’s why it’s so hard to let you go.