The last four years I spent with you, I have been happy. Most of it. I thought I can spend the rest of my life with you. To grow old. Together. But now that we’re living our separate ways, I guess we’ll simply grow old. Apart.
You, of all people, know that I’m not tough. You knew where to strike to deliver a fatal blow. When you came back, you hit it right on the spot. I found myself vulnerable again.
I don’t know if I should be comforted with the thought that as long as he stays overseas, I’ll have you. But do I really have you? Do you still want to have me? I used to know the answer had you asked me that question. If I’d answer that, would things change? I know I deserve better than these. But “these” are what you are. To love means to love you despite these things.
I'm learning how not to love you.
I'm getting there...
-Slip-up, Wandering Tsinelas