To me, it is not about getting over things and moving forward, it is about going through the sadness, taking some of it with you and being made whole because of it.
I love you. Not in the same way I used to, but I always will in some way or another, I’m sure. You hurt me. You really hurt me on that day and I remember telling you that you had never hurt me before then, and I think that felt true.
But half a year later, with a (slightly) clearer head, I’m able to look back and realise that it wasn’t the first time you hurt me. I’m sure it wasn’t the first time I hurt you either. I loved you.
I loved you in that weightlessly falling, can’t wait for you to catch me, feels like I’m dreaming kind of way. It makes me nauseous to think about it sometimes.
But I loved you and I loved you and I loved you, even though my love came in broken pieces. You deserved more than that. I deserved more than that.
We deserved more than broken pieces that would never quite fit together. And I don’t know whether you were my soul mate and we messed with the fates, or whether you were here to show me all the different ways a person can love. But I know that you were far, far more than nothing, and I will always remember you.