You mistake tragedy for horror because no one likes true sadness.

You were quite lovely, but I mixed lovely with homely because I was young and naive. So plain and simple, yet pleasant and handsome. You felt like home, but that’s where I went wrong.

I love him. So much. To the point where you won’t understand. You don’t get it because I don’t get it. It’s there. It exists. It flows. It moves like rapids through my veins. Comes with bursts and occasionally fades with the day, but it’s always there. And when you find love like that, you don’t want to give it up. But sometimes you have to and sometimes you have to give it to someone else. That’s the hard part.

The hard part wasn’t breaking up. The hard part is forcing myself to fall out of love with you.

His eyes said what I cannot see.

Three years later and I’m still writing about you. I don’t know if that says more about you or I.

My mistakes were because I was selfless. I wanted to complete someone else, I didn’t think about completing myself.

I touched him. From brain to body, in ways I couldn’t quite understand. But he did and for him, that was all that mattered.

I worked with him in a way where there was no need to align. We felt and the feeling was simple but complex. It was the intensity in our grasp and when it was done, it was done.