I still miss you, but that doesn’t mean we should be together, right? Perhaps it just means life gave us a fairytale none of us could claim. And I’m okay with that.

I loved you every minute we were together, and I’ll miss you every minute we’re apart.

For crumbs of your love, I do everything I can.

You were priceless; every encounter since you has proven this to be further right. There was never a day with you I felt less. Even at my worst, you saw the best in me. I’m going to miss that forever.

There wasn’t a single word that you said that triggered my insecurities. You were so thoughtful, so loving. I will miss you forever.

You truly made me fall in love with myself while everyone since has done the opposite. I’m left feeling unworthy and inadequate.

But this is just me reminiscing the good parts on a bad day – you weren’t perfect too. All the love you gave was borrowed and never yours to give away. So yeah, you broke my heart all the same and if anything, you broke it even more.

However, the one thing I will love you forever for is making me feel worthy every minute you were around. You didn’t even have to say it, the way you cared for me – said it all. And that meant the world to me. I thank heavens for bringing you my way, even for the brief while it did.

Tell me, what was it about her?
Was it the way she managed to look flawless no matter what time of the day, or that she simply wasn’t me, no I, her?

Tell me, answer me.
Was it the way she moved through crowds as she owned them, turning every head including yours, or the way she makes you feel after you make me cry?

Was it the way she rose above all every time you went running to her, or the way she could afford nice things and I could not?

Was it her sincerity or the meaningless sex?
The way she looks at you or the way she chants your name behind closed doors?

Was I, simply not good enough?

Tell me, please. What was it about her?

I can’t stop spiralling
I can’t stop trembling
I can’t stop feeling irrelevant
I can’t stop feeling unwanted
I can’t stop thinking I could never be loved
I can’t stop

But I also know that;

I can’t expect people to read my mind or understand the disasters of it
I can’t expect people to comprehend the voices and how loud they get
I can’t expect much at all unless I tell them how I truly feel

Meanwhile, I’ve got to;

I’ve got to stop crying
I’ve got to fight back my demons

I need to stop expecting magical solutions to very real problems
I need to start having honest conversations about real feelings, even if they are painful
I need to stop wondering and start knowing
I need to believe in myself and others

I just wish my heart would stop racing and my mind would stop telling me things I’m not ready to hear. I wish I could pull myself out of the spiral bring me back to solid ground and tell myself it’s only a minor setback and not the end of the world.

People can love you and still not understand every little sensation your mind transpires to your body. It’s hard and painful – but they only understand what they know and they know so little of what your mind conspires against you.

‘But I thought you enjoyed it,’ he said when I ultimately sought him out after a long period of silence following an intense yet impetuous intimate encounter during which he slapped me across the face. Something no man had ever dared to do. He never asked if he could; it was merely a spur-of-the-moment thing. Consent was lost in the wickedness of pleasure. I let it go because I was misled by his embrace and dazzled by his charm.

I must admit that I didn’t hate it at the moment, but I have despised it every day afterwards as a result of his indifference. He’d let me slip away so casually.

Don’t get me wrong, he was plenty sweet in the few hours we spent together. But it was all for nothing; it was a waste of my sentimentality.

Another one of the many men to contribute to the depreciation of my soul value.

I live in continual dread of missing out on wonderful things.

Thank you for your excuses,
Thank you for not loving me.
Thank you for not treating me right,
Thank you for letting me be.
Thank you for the lies, the careless I love you’s.
Thank you for letting me believe that we could be real too.

But finally, thank you for showing me the truth of your ways, that your heart wasn’t in where your hands ran through.

I will find my way away from you, to a home where love holds its meaning, and I hold my value.

So really, thank you for goodbye.

Give them all of you and all they take is your clothes. Bare your soul for them to see and all they see is your skin.

Hungry eyes of young desires.

It’s almost as if I’m reliving my 17-year-old heartbreak – all the same components, all the same earth-shattering powerlessness. Immature and foolish all at the same time. I know in my heart that this isn’t going away anytime soon.

This one left a significant scar – and right now, the only way I can relieve my pain is to keep playing ‘Teardrops On My Guitar’, on full volume just as I did when I was 17.

Another one-sided affair and despite how brief it was, my heart was in it.

Nothing I feel lasts longer than a minute unless its doom.