You.

I’m tired of not knowing what we are. I sit here and contemplate whether you even want me, failing to realize  that want and need are two different things.

See, the difference is – I have grown to need you. I have grown to need your presence in my unruly life, grown to need everything that you give me, the happy and the sad. I don’t think you need me. I don’t think you want to need me.

It’s different with you. I’ve become hopelessly infatuated with a boy that could care less, and I keep letting myself fall for your reckless reassurances because I don’t know how else to feel. You can’t give me what I want, but do I even know what I want?

That’s the saddest part. I don’t know what I want from you, but all I know is that I want you. I love you. It hurts to say it, as though saying it can mean finally accepting it and maybe if I say your name enough times it’ll feel like honey instead of razor blades.

I’m sick of it. I can’t handle loving you anymore than I can handle hating you, and I’m tired of constantly dreaming about your hands around my waist. I’m angry at myself for staying up till 6 am, with your face plaguing my thoughts. I’ve forgotten what a good night’s sleep even feels like.

You don’t even realise it, but you are what has always made me happy. For the past year, I have thought of you and only you. Unfortunately, it’s not been the same for you, and it breaks me to this day.

You broke me, and you didn’t flinch. You were okay with losing someone who loved you, even when she had come back to you numerous times. Even when she would take a blade to her heart for you. Even when she loved you more than she loved herself.

As I write this today, I have reached the point where I am ready to say goodbye to you. You have brought me a different kind of heartbreak, one that I may never recover from. One that’ll haunt me for years to come.

You see, you left my heart stranded. I can’t blame you for leaving me. I would’ve hated you if you stayed. I hate you now, for giving me hope that there is good in you, hope that you care about me, hope that you would someday come back to me.

I’ve been living on a lie for months now. You see, I don’t think you ever loved me. I don’t think you know what love really is. I would sacrifice myself to the Gods themselves, just to see you happy. My death would leave you a happier man, I’m aware. And that is why loving you is breaking me, and today, I need to say goodbye. I need to stop loving you. I need to.

I thought you were “The One”. A romantic idea that has now become dead to me. The idea of love has become dead to me. Lately I’ve realised that I’m never going to find the type of love that you can move mountains for. I’ll keep chasing after should have beens and the ones that got away, forgetting that they’d never even shift a chair for me but I’d break myself for them.

The truth is, I’m undatable. An enigma of uncertainty, of toxicity, of self-loathing and neediness. I needed you, and in doing so, suffocated every ounce of happiness you have ever had. That’s why I look for the opposite of myself in boys that wouldn’t care even if I asked them to. I looked for happiness in you knowing you already have it, forgetting that you can’t love me unless I learn to love myself.

You don’t want to love me anyways.

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