I loved you. My heart swelled with love and affection for you, and I believe that you reciprocated this. For a while anyway. You once told me that I was the only girl you had loved that you could actually imagine a future with. You told me the most intimate things, and I shared my deepest thoughts and feelings with you. We helped eachother in our journey to recovering. That’s what I chose to believe at the time anyway. Whereas now, reflecting on our experience maybe we clashed too much. Maybe instead of improving eachother, we were toxic. Our love was poison.
I think I was conscious of our toxicity at the time, but I refused to believe it. So, I buried the consciousness in the back of my mind and continued to see you and our love through rose-tinted glasses. We formulated plans. I still have the list somewhere. We were going to go to the rooftop cinema in London, we were going to walk along the heath in your hometown, have a movie marathon. So many plans, so many dreams.
I craved your touch, to be held by you, your kiss. I needed you, and I thought you needed me. I wanted to be with you every step of the way through your operation and your illness. You were in pain and I wanted to try and eradicate that pain as much as I could, but in the end you wouldn’t let me. You wouldn’t let me be there for you, you pushed me away, because you had found a better option. I get that she is prettier, thinner, probably a better person. But I would have done anything for you. I still would.
I still don’t go a day without thinking of you, and imagining how things would be different if you hadn’t have given up on us. I don’t think a day will ever pass where I don’t think of you. Nostalgia and hurt still remains, yet you don’t even spare me a thought. Did I mean that little to you?
I pray for a day to come where I don’t miss you, don’t still feel love and pain whenever your name appears in my brain.
But for now, I do miss you. I do love you. And I would still take you back in an instant.