My life is a complex web of emotions, where love and pain intertwine in ways that are both beautiful and agonizing. We are now separated, but there’s a lingering thought that maybe our souls remain connected. I’ve cast myself in the role of the villain, painting you as the worst, hoping that you’d see yourself through that harsh lens. I’ve said things to you, words laced with anger and resentment, hoping you’d believe I hate you. But beneath those words lies a love so deep that even you might find it hard to believe after all that has been said.
I had to be cruel, not because it was easy, but because I’m suffering in ways you may never fully understand. My life, as it stands, isn’t in a place where I can offer you the nourishment and care you deserve. Your actions have cut deep—ignoring my messages, posting pictures without a word to me, leaving me in silence for a week, and then dismissing my concerns as trivial. It hurt when you said, "Oh, it was just a week," as if time stood still for me while I waited for any sign from you. But you couldn’t grasp the depth of my feelings, the storm inside me that’s been brewing from my own struggles and the wounds you’ve unknowingly added to.
In my attempt to protect us both, I became the villain in our story. I thought that by being the bad one, I could shield us from further pain. Yet, in the quiet corners of my heart, I still love you—perhaps in a silent, distant way. My love may not be expressed in tender words or affectionate gestures, but it’s there, buried under layers of hurt, waiting in the silence.
How could I ever forget September 1st? The date holds a significance that time cannot erase—four years, marked by ups and downs, though more often downs. The memories linger, each one a reminder of what we went through together. Even when things weren’t perfect, those moments mattered to me, deeply. I remember the first time you showed care, or at least when it seemed genuine. Maybe it wasn’t truly heartfelt, maybe you were just trying to make yourself feel good by pretending to care, but still, those moments are etched in my heart. The way you talked to me on the phone, your voice laced with a certain tenderness, the way you said "I love you"—all those little things meant the world to me.
But I also remember the worst—the sleepless nights spent waiting for a text from you, the days I cried, feeling humiliated and broken. I remember how I struggled to focus on my exams, cutting off my phone, overwhelmed by the pain you caused. I fought with friends because of you, hurt myself, and yet, through all that, I still cared about you. I genuinely did.
Every night, I revisit our old texts, reliving the highs and lows, the love and hate, the joy and sorrow. It’s been four years since we first met on August 16th—an evening I remember so vividly, even though the exact time escapes me. Was it 7:22 p.m.? 9:32 p.m.? Maybe 9:19 p.m.? I can’t be sure, but I know it was around 9 p.m. And then, on September 1st, we confessed our feelings, officially acknowledging what had been growing between us. I bared my soul to you, showed you who I truly was, hoping you’d see the real me and love me for it.
September 1st, a day that’s become a cornerstone of my memory, as significant as it is painful. It’s strange how a date can encapsulate so much—four years of a journey that was anything but easy, a journey that tested the limits of love, patience, and endurance. When I look back, it feels like a tapestry woven with threads of both beauty and sorrow, a blend of moments that have left an indelible mark on who I am today.
I can still feel the weight of those nights when I stayed up, eyes wide open, heart racing, waiting for a message from you. Each minute felt like an hour, each hour like an eternity. The anticipation was excruciating, and yet, I clung to it because it was all I had. Those were the nights when I questioned everything—my worth, your feelings, the very nature of love itself. But through it all, I never stopped caring. I never stopped hoping that maybe, just maybe, you’d realize how much I loved you, how much I was willing to endure for the sake of what we had.
There were moments of happiness, too—fleeting, but powerful enough to keep me going. The sound of your voice, the way you’d say my name, the laughter we shared—those memories are like small, precious gems scattered amidst a vast, desolate landscape. I remember how you’d talk to me, sometimes with a softness that felt like a balm to my wounded heart, and other times with a casualness that made me wonder if you ever truly cared. Yet, despite the doubt, despite the hurt, I cherished those conversations because they were ours.
I remember the first time we met on video call, the nervous excitement, the awkwardness that eventually gave way to something more profound. It was the beginning of a story I thought would last forever. And when September 1st came around, when we finally confessed our feelings, it felt like the culmination of everything we’d been building toward. I showed you my true self, exposed my vulnerabilities, my hopes, my fears. It was terrifying and liberating all at once. I thought that by being honest, by revealing the depths of my soul, we could build something real, something lasting.
But as time went on, things changed. The love that once felt so pure and strong began to fray at the edges. Misunderstandings grew, and the distance between us widened. I started to see cracks in the foundation we’d built, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I was the only one trying to hold it all together. I began to question whether you ever truly loved me or if I was just another chapter in your story, one you could easily close and move on from.
Yet, despite everything, I can’t bring myself to forget you. No matter what happens in my life, I will never forget the bond we cherished because you mean so much to me. Even though we’re not together now, and maybe neither of us can forgive the other, a part of me has already forgiven you long ago. But there’s another part of me that can’t, a part that’s been hurt so deeply that it’s still raw, still aching. Perhaps one day, when you’re older and more mature, you’ll understand the pain I’ve carried and why I had to play the villain in this story. Maybe then you’ll realize the reasons behind my harsh words, my need to distance myself, and why I ultimately left.
Try to see things from my perspective, to put yourself in my shoes, and you might begin to grasp the depths of what I’ve been through. But for now, all I can do is hope that in time, you’ll come to understand the love that once was, the pain that remains, and the reasons why I had to let go.
Letting go wasn’t easy. It felt like tearing out a piece of my heart, a piece that would never fully heal. But I knew it was necessary. I had to protect myself, even if it meant becoming the villain in our story. I had to be the one to walk away, to say the harsh words, to paint you as the worst, even if deep down, I knew it wasn’t entirely true.
Now, as I reflect on those four years, I realize that they’ve shaped me in ways I never could have imagined. They’ve taught me about love, yes, but also about resilience, about the strength it takes to keep going even when everything inside you wants to give up. I’ve learned that love isn’t always enough, that sometimes, no matter how much you care, the best thing you can do is walk away.
But that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten. I still think of you, of us, of what could have been. I still revisit those old texts, reliving the moments that defined our relationship. And even though we’re no longer together, even though I’ve had to put up walls to protect myself, a part of me will always remember September 1st, and the love that once was.
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