I loved you. I loved you with passion and ferocity. I loved you with such a depth that I got myself to a point when I couldn’t imagine my life without you. It’s like I was not only in love with you, I was infatuated by you. I was obsessed and in love with every part of your body, your smile, your eyes, your touch… everything.
And I was not only in love with you, but I was also in love with the way you were making me feel. I didn’t only love your hands and your touch, but I also loved the way my skin warmed and melted under them. It wasn’t just your laugh, but the goosebumps I got every time I saw your smile.
And sometimes I even think that I didn’t even really love you but I loved the idea of you and how you made me feel. Yes, love can be selfish like that. We love for us, never for the other person.
That’s why when you left, I felt as if the most valuable part of me was being ripped off.
And your leaving was not silent. You slammed the door on your way out. I felt like a failure and I thought that I was destined to live a lonely life full of sorrow and emptiness because I was attached to all the wonderful things that you represented to me. And when you left, it’s like you took away all the beauty with you and suddenly my life has become a barren desert.
But now I understand. I wasn’t in love with you, I was in love with the idea of you. Yes, you hurt me when you took away the fantasy, but I will be okay.
There is still love in my heart that is waiting to be shared with someone who will be right for me.