I'm sorry that everything came to this. Maybe it all stemmed from reading this blog. I can see where it'd be frustrating. I had all these thoughts, these outbursts of anger and passion and sadness, and I never told you about any of them. I took my emotions to every extreme: I said I hated you and I said I loved you. I said that we defaced commitment and I said we defied the odds every day. I flew across the spectrum of relationship ties and confused even myself with my words.
And I kept it all in. I never told you any of it. It all stemmed out of one thing: I didn't trust you to stay. I didn't trust you to not flitter off like a startled wild animal once I gave you what you said you needed from me. I didn't think it would be enough to keep you. Even if I did have reason to be nervous, I know that was never once fair to you. How could you possibly know what I was thinking? How could I possibly know what you were going to do? Sometimes I was rude, sometimes I was love-struck, and sometimes I was bold, but to you, I was always silent. That silence played a key role in our downfall.
It's unfortunate that it came to this. Obviously, I care a lot about how this ended. I have written about this endlessly. I have cried loudly and hysterically and I have stayed locked in my room wracked with silent sobs. I have teared up at the mention of your name, and my stomach has dropped at the sight of your picture. But today, I also have laughed. I have spoken Spanish and watched cartoons and, oh, how life goes on so quickly. And that's good. Life will go on. Life is going on. Life has gone on. And I have caught up with it, even though it has taken a strength and endurance I never knew I possessed.
I don't know if you'll ever read this again because you got what you wanted. I looked like a catty bitch, and you have so many little reasons to hate me. Now you can construct a genuine disdain for me. Now you have all the justifications in the world. And that's okay. It's okay to be hurt and upset and angry because I was too. I was that you posted that about me because damn that physically ached. I was hurt that we ended at all even though I knew it was going to happen. I just wasn't sure of the details. It was okay for me to be upset too. I know that, no matter how much it hurt to read, you wrote it for a reason and that reason is because you want to be over me. I know you're not. That's okay. I'm sorry you feel the need to tell the world otherwise, but I don't blame you. I did precisely the same thing. I put on a brave face and said, "Joe?" and shrugged it off like it was just a name and not a foundation. It was easier than explaining the complications of us. It was all a messy web that we both tore apart so brutally in our own ways. Even with the best of intentions, we obliterated each other. For a long time, I desperately wished it hadn't been so.
(410 days. I counted. I can't believe I counted. Did you know that you told me you liked me around this time last year? I remember what you said. "I think I'm starting to like you because..." I can't remember the exact details, but I know it was especially because of my taste in music. Oh, I read that twenty times before I replied. I'd never been so giddy to get a text message. It's funny how a date like that can mean something so different a year later.)
Even though I am completely content with the fact that you and I are over for the rest of our lives, I still wish you the greatest happiness in all of your future endeavors.
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