Indeed, how could I be angry with you for choosing what you believe is best for your life? How selfish and foolish would I have to be to resent you for making choices that serve your future?

I am simply a chapter in your life that has already closed, something that once mattered, but no longer does.

But how am I supposed to feel when I have been left behind by someone I loved with everything I had, as though letting me go required no effort at all?

Maybe that is what hurts most. Not that you chose yourself, but that somewhere along the way, I began to feel as though you had mistaken me for someone disposable. Someone you could simply fool around with and leave behind when it no longer suited you.

You entered my life disguised as a blessing, while already knowing you could not promise me anything. You told me you never wanted to be mistaken for someone who toys with another person's feelings. And yet, somehow, that is exactly how it felt.

Am I accusing you?

Perhaps I am.

Because I know that if I had known from the beginning that what I was feeling would never be returned, I would never have allowed myself to give someone hope I knew I could not fulfil.

That is the difference between us. You seemed able to do it without hesitation. And I was foolish enough to believe you.

I keep telling myself that I am angry. That I am drowning in sadness. That I am tormented by everything that happened. But the truth is, I barely feel anything anymore.

I just want you back.

And that is the cruelest part of it. Because somewhere between loving you and losing you, you destroyed something in me that I don't know how to rebuild.

You reduced my pride to ashes when there was hardly any left to begin with.

You took me to heaven, only for me to realise that it was never heaven at all, only a beautiful place from which I would eventually have to fall.

You acted without thinking about what your actions might leave behind. You spoke without considering what your words might become inside someone else's mind.

And when you were drunk, you told me you loved me. For a moment, I believed that was the truth beneath the mask. Then morning came, and everything disappeared with the alcohol.

I am tired.

Beyond tired.

I don't know what I am holding onto anymore. It feels as though so much of the hope and happiness I once had disappeared with you.

And now I am left here, trying to understand how to become a person again.

I hope you are happy. I genuinely do.

Perhaps you are. Perhaps you always will be. And perhaps I simply never meant as much to you as you meant to me.

Still, every part of me seems to be screaming for the same thing. Not for anyone else. Not for another love. Just you.

The damned overthinker. The sentimental one. The fool who felt everything too deeply, and loved you anyway.