It's been 16 months. It’s funny really, it's not even been a year and a half yet but it feels like even longer..
I try not to let myself miss you, a task that, at times, I find completely impossible. I used to think of you everyday, now though the days you don't penetrate my thoughts are becoming more frequent. When I do think of you I wonder who you’re with and what you’re doing. I wonder if you miss me at all and if you ever think of me.
I remember how I felt when I was with you; unstoppable.
The warmth of your skin against mine, the taste of your lips… The way you had the ability to make me smile and laugh. The secret looks we’d exchange, and the way we’d get lost in each others eyes forgetting we weren’t alone...
I remember how I felt when I was with you; unworthy.
The way you'd make me paranoid. The way you'd lie. How you controlled me. The way I placed every single ounce of trust I ever had in you, and the way you broke me down. The way you'd make me cry.
The end was too difficult. It was too much. The unhappiness blurred any good times we'd ever had. So I did it.
I broke the last thing we had: your trust in me.
I didn't care. I wasn't remorseful.
We grew stale. We went from being completely in love; head over heels, passionate, intimate, kill-somebody-for-it, intense, mad love to hating eachother. To shouting and crying and talking each other down.
Sometimes I wish we'd had more time. That everything had gone to plan. Most of the time I want to thank you for the time we did have together, a task difficult now that we don't speak. Something I never thought would have been possible.
Our love story ended, leaving me cynical about investing that much time in someone again. About pouring that much of my soul into somebody else. About trusting again, but who knows.
Maybe one day.
Until then, there are micro pigs and puppies.
