, , , , , , , ,

I should hate you, but I can’t.

First of all, I don’t believe in hate.

And second, I truly loved you. That silly “never want to leave your side, wanna blow up your phone, kiss you in the rain” kind of love. But we went from a tame Harlequin romance novel to a rip-roaring Shakespearian tragedy.

I said goodbye. I pushed you away. I refused to call. But it doesn’t mean I let go. Getting over you didn’t take a month, six months or a year or two.

When our relationship ended, I’d have moments of unexplainable anger. Followed by tears. Then, I’d be “fine.” For days. Maybe weeks. Eventually months. Then – a calm. A sunset ending. Close the book.
you and IThen, damn it, you’d appear. Or, stupid me, I’d call. But after we spoke last, I forced myself to move on. Too much time had passed. I believed if you wanted to reconcile, you would’ve given me an indication.

So, I opened a new chapter.

And here we are, years and years later, and for the last two years you’ve consumed my thoughts. You’re in every song. In my dreams. In my novels. I need you to leave my thoughts. Because it’s not fair to either party.

I’ve fallen for someone who’s a composite I recreated in my mind. That kid with a wicked laugh, amazing eyes and a shy, adorable smile whose kisses are butterfly inducing. Whose zest and enthusiasm for life was extraordinary.

But dare I say, you don’t remember me. Quick, what colour are my eyes? Do you remember my hair, my laugh, my smile? My quirks? The last thing I said to you? The first? It’s gone. Isn’t it?

Maybe for you. But I can’t erase memories from years – or even months ago. It’s how I’m wired.

But our lives are different. We’re on separate paths. With commitments, obligations and promises. At this point in my life, everything should be perfect. Right? Peachy? I’m loved, blissful, content. Or am I confused? Was I never over you and simply closed the diary. And forgot the lock.

we startedRegardless, it’s gone. Our chance for happily ever after is gone. It’s over. It’s done. It’s impossible to live on “what if’s.” It’s like searching for Pokemon. You can see them. You can catch them. But in the end, all you have is a strange looking animal on your phone. In reality, you wasted time capturing something that doesn’t exist.

You’ll always be my favourite “what if.” My favourite “impaired-judgement, shredded his heart, no boom-box over my head can save me now” what if.
You were a bright light at a low time in my life who brought me more than a sliver of happiness. And I snuffed you out.

And you should hate me.