The only question I ask myself is: did we teach each other the meaning of love for ourselves or someone else?

Because even after you swore you weren’t like the other, I didn’t realise you meant you were worse.

But had we become so awfully used to this love because it was the only kind of love we thought existed? What if love was supposed to be easier and not only be about 'fighting through the hard times and the dark clouds'? And what if there weren't supposed to be this many dark clouds and what if love was not supposed to be this hard?

You left me as quickly as you told me you loved me, all in one breath. When I told you I was hard to love, you asked me not to be scared; I believed you. Because even after you swore you weren’t like the others, I didn’t realise you meant you were worse.