What we had wasn't made to last regardless of the possibility that it had a feeling that it was... It wasn't for us.
So imagine a scenario in which our story finished. It hurt like damnation.
I watched you love another person. I watched you love them in a way I ought to love.
It wasn't that you cleared out that hurt; what hurt was that you left with no wavering.
I would not like to excuse you — I needed you to endure. I needed you to feel the way I felt and to feel the torment you caused.
Presently... I see it all. I realize what we had wasn't for us.
My identity isn't whom I've ended up with. I required you in an approach to improve me and to make me comprehend that I am worth more than all the fucking bologna you put me through.
What you found in me and what you picked and loved about me; even my most unlovable blemishes are commendable in another person's eyes.
Initially, I needed to love myself through my own eyes.
I know now if we remained together we'd have an opening inside, neither of us could fill.
At the time, it craved everything was descending on me at the same time and simply didn't get it.
The time has passed and I've mended. I've gained such a great amount from adoring you, from abhorring you, and even from pardoning you.
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