I promised myself I’d never write about you ever again. But I couldn’t help it

We were never perfect, but for some naive reason, I thought we were perfect together. I remember falling asleep in your arms, an episode of something on Netflix playing in the background. You’d kiss my forehead. I’d rest my head against your chest and feel safe for the first time in my life. I wanted to be with you always. I wanted this security always.



I never, for even a second, thought you’d be the one to destroy me.

There were no warning signs. No red flags. Just us. Just you, the man I adored. The man I would have moved mountains for had you asked. The man I let sleep in my bed and know me in intimate ways no one else had ever before.

Maybe I should have known better. Maybe there was something I missed. Something I couldn’t see because I was so enamored with your every bit. Maybe I was so in love that I turned a blind eye.

Your betrayal shook my foundation. Not just the foundation of us, but the foundation of everything I thought. All that I believed about love was up in the air. I wasn’t sure about anything. It wasn’t just about you. I was now questioning everything.

When you left me, you didn’t just break my heart. You also broke me.

You broke me into a new person. You broke me into someone who had so many questions and zero answers. You broke me into someone who needed comfort, but didn’t trust hands. You broke me into a grieving ex-girlfriend wanting to understand.

But I didn’t. I never understood why you did what you did. And maybe that’s okay.

When you hurt me, you destroyed me. You destroyed the girl you knew. The girl who put her needs second to yours. The girl who looked away when something wasn’t right. You destroyed her.

Thank you.

She needed to be destroyed. And as painful as it was, I learned who I could become. I learned being without you didn’t ruin me. Being without you was my rebirth. Being without you was my second chance.

I had to bury the girl you loved. She’s no longer who I am.

But now...

Now, I’m having such a hard time forgiving you because it would be so much easier to turn away. It would be easier to cut you out of my world forever. It would be easier to keep pretending you mean nothing to me and it doesn’t make a difference to me whether we see each other again. It would be easier to keep you far, far away from me.

I’m not sure whether you belong back in my world or whether I’ve been doing the right thing this whole time by keeping you at a distance. I’m not sure whether you deserve to see me again or whether I need to walk away for good this time.

Although I now know that the safety of your arms was always just an illusion, I still crave your touch. I miss the way your hands lightly caressed my body, yet I know that living in the past will never help me move on.

I hate to admit it (and never will out loud), but maybe I miss you.

Everyone says our relationship brought out the worst in me. Naturally, I tell myself that I’m better off without you as I trace the remnants of our forbidden forays all along my body. And every time I think of you, all I see is crimson red.

In so many ways, our “love affair” was toxic and entirely unsafe. When I thought I had reached my limit, you pushed me to risk so much more. I thought you’d be my dirty secret and we could keep our encounters under wraps. But by the time we separated, I wore the signs of our affection up and down my arms.

Yet for some reason I can’t help the way I long for you when the world becomes too much. After all, you stayed by my side through some of my darkest days. When I felt broken and alone, you comforted me in ways nobody else could. You remained calm and collected in moments of crisis and helped me cope with the storm inside.

So maybe I miss you… so what?

As my life begins to crumble once again, I find myself longing for your touch once more. My skin screams for just one more stroke from your jagged but loving hands. As I lie awake in an empty bed, I cry out for you.

But I know that if I let you back into my home or even my heart, I’ll never make it out alive. Our love is like the perfect storm and I always end up being the one left in the wake of its destruction. I know that I crave you like a drug, and once I start, I’ll never stop until I overdose.

The fact of the matter is that I can miss you but remain without you for the rest of time. I thought that I could control you, but I’ve since learned that you drive me to feel insane. I get itches that only you can scratch, but only you cause them as well.

So, sure, maybe I miss you now, and maybe I always will. And although I maybe miss you, separated we will remain.