I wish you never loved me to begin with.
Because admitting that you were in love with me six months ago, and now suddenly not wanting anything to do with me, is much harder than admitting that you must have never loved me at all. Falling out of love with me is harder to swallow, because it would mean that at some point, I had a chance, and it must be something I did that made you feel this way now. And I don’t want to admit this even to myself.
So I will just keep telling myself that you never loved me, that it was all an act, that you were just trying to prove something to yourself, and that you lacked the decency to end this – whatever this is – as an adult.
I will tell myself that maybe this is part of your growing up phase; maybe it has everything to do with your journey and nothing to do with mine. Maybe I was meant to teach you something that will help you later in your life, but I can’t help but wonder what lesson you needed to learn that had to end in my heart being broken. I hope it was worth it. I hope it was worth breaking my heart.
I hope you didn’t break my heart for some selfish reason, or even worse, for your ego. I hope it wasn’t just something that happened, I hope you had it all planned from the very beginning.
I hope you thought about it, I hope all the hurtful things you did to me were on purpose, like my friends said. At least then it would mean that you gave me the privilege of filling a tiny part of your thoughts, that I wasn’t nothing at all to you, the way your silence is making me feel. I hope it’s true that you never fell in love with me at the first place; that way I can at least explain to myself why you never looked back, not even once.