Take all of me with you, if you have to
Years of knowing you is one of
the reasons why I still continuously think of the endless what ifs of ours—what
if you remained faithful to me, what
if I didn’t let go, what if we both held
our words until the anger in us died down, what if we never broke up? I can’t let go of everything we have, not even a
portion of it. I just can’t even if in those years of being with you, I know
one thing—being with you for such a long
time still does not mean I know you, all of you, for there are still pieces of
you that stayed yours, and no one else’s, mysteriously yours.
I loved you, with all that I
have, with all that I am, even with the misfit and broken pieces of me, even if
you haven’t asked for them yet. You didn’t need to ask me twice, nor once. I
was offering every bit of me freely. I held no secrets, except those that hurt
me, for I didn’t want you to feel that you aren’t good enough for me. I found perfection
in no one, except you because I chose
not to. It felt like a sin worshipping a whole new different level of
perfection, it felt like betraying you, and the that is the last thing I would
want to do to you, so I never did.
But with every single time you
mess up, and I need to cover for you, you let me see the little bits of
imperfection in the man I once saw as perfect. I cannot change you—I cannot fix
you. And in every chance that I realized that I could not, it breaks me a
little more inside. It is breaking me slowly—so slow, it feels like drowning in
the bottom of the sea with no one else in the view. I felt so helpless. We both
did, only I knew, and you never knew I felt the same way. I didn’t tell you
because I didn’t want you to leave. I didn’t tell anyone else because I want to
keep everyone knowing that we are still
that perfect pair. At least for me, we still are.
We broke up, and yet you still
care about me so much, and it makes me question my decision of leaving you. I
hope you could just get mad at me to make it easier for me to remove your hold
from my life, to make moving on faster for me. You messed up infinitely before
I decided to break it up, then I broke up with you. But with you caring for me
as if nothing changed makes me feel like I am the worst person. I know I’m not,
but with you, I think I am.
Do you realize how unhealthy, and crazy we have become? This whirlwind romance that we have took us to
greatest heights and lowest slumps. We were robbed of our chance to be both happy, really happy. And if it
meant breaking us apart, then I am willing to suffer the consequences of leaving
you when you need me the most. I’d still wake up on some nights feeling the
same intensity of hurt when we were slowly falling apart, but I know I’ll get
over this. Not now, probably, but I know I will. We need to be happy. We can’t keep being together for convenience,
and because we complement each other’s flaws. We need to let go. You’ve
exhausted everything I could give to someone, but it doesn’t matter. You could
run away with them if you want to. I loved you, and I am letting you go with
all of me, even if it means being empty when you leave—because as you start over, I want you to
remember that there was once a person
who loved you unconditionally. I am willing to lose
everything because I know I can rebuild myself, but I’m afraid you can’t without
anything to begin with.
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