It's been over a year. I know you didn't plan for any of it. I know it's not your fault. But it still hurts, you know?
Everything I share with you feels one-sided. Do you remember what was between us? Do you still think about me? And if you do, does the remembrance of them make you smile or cry?
I'm still waiting. Are you? Because I gave you a promise, and like I promised, I stayed.
You think I broke my promise, don't you? Do you still play those songs I told you I liked, or have you abandoned them because remembering me isn't as pleasant as it used to be? Was I too much? Was I ever enough?
Are you mad at me?
I still send you messages on your birthday. I still text you.
God, I miss you so much. Everything was so good. When did it get so complicated?
Come back, please.
You probably won't know about these messages, but they're proof I'm still there, that I've never let go, that I'm still here.
You were everything beautiful. You're the person who made me feel less empty. You made me feel beautiful—I never felt any beauty in myself. All I saw was a pale, bruised girl. You brought her soul back to life and then ran away. Now that girl feels hollow and sad.
Were you a lesson? Were you just a matter of time? I'll always love you, even when you don't, even when you stop loving me. Perhaps in another life that girl was happy. But in this one, she's still waiting for someone who doesn't know if he's ever coming back or not.