To You

July 10 .Sunny.

I have never regretted the two years I was with you. You gave me so much happiness...and it was all effortless. We didn't disagree. We didn't fight. Our throats didn't burn from yelling at each other. We had faith. We had trust. We believed. And no matter what terms we are in right now, I still thank you. These years have been beautiful.

I never threw you, dumped you to be all alone. I wanted you. That's why I struggled in the first place. Why can't you understand...why can't you listen...

I told you I wanted a break. I gave you a lecture with you soundless on the phone.

"Are you ok?"

"Yea. I'm fine. Bye then," you expressed happily.

Within hours, you tried to talk to me again. It was no simple talk. It was embedded with references of the past. It had complaints of the present. Depression for the future. It was sarcastic. It was angry. It was lies. Everything disgusting entering my ear was coming from the person I loved most.

Every conversation was like that.

How do you expect us to be friends...

I understand that you are angry. I understand that you are sad. I don't mind you throwing tantrums at my face. To some extent, I do believe that I deserve it. I gave you everything, and took everything away instantaneously. I know that. I don't mind being your target. But you didn't even realize throughout these weeks that I was suffering too. You didn't realize that I was letting you throw whatever you wanted to say at me. There was not even one time where I yelled at you or threw something back. You didn't notice that I was taking in your anger to my heart. I accepted it unconditionally. I did that, because I loved you. But you just kept on throwing them at me. One after the other. I took them nonetheless. But my love for you began to fade as it went on...

You kept on trying things that made it so childish. You kept on mentioning Jadie. You kept on calling me names. A player. A traitor. A liar. You kept on hating me. And then loving me. I don't know what you feel. I don't know what you want. Would you be surprised that my responses to you seem emotionless now? You're the one that stripped every purpose I had for you away.

"Just disregard what I say," you said.
Have you considered the possibility of just not saying it? How can I erase what you call me, what you accuse me of? You matter to me...Your words prick me, leave me half alive. Half dead.

You didn't give me the break that I constantly asked for, begged for. You didn't give me any respect. You only pointed fingers and tried to run away, pushing me down in the process. You only thought of what you wanted. I left you, but I didn't do any of these. I was a doll, and you were the kid. Everything you did, everything you said, I kept silent. Everything you left in the air, I captured and accepted. Even if it made me bleed.

Toys break.

You told me to do whatever makes me happy, but simultaneously, you're the one that was making me cry.

"How can you let him do that to you?" Joanna would say.
It's because I loved you.

It's these actions that changed my mind. I initially decided to stay. But it just all fell apart with your comments. I can only catch so much, lock so many in my jar. I made a sharp turn. When all you were doing was making the situations worse, he was there to make me smile. I thought you could do that very well too. I know you still can. The worst part is knowing that you chose not to.

I want you to stay. That's why I want a break. I want us to be friends. But days passed, time ticked, you seem to make that impossible. We can't fight against our own relationship and the bond that we created. A break will let our hearts rest. And then we can start over. You would have time to let go. And I would have time to recover. You can't make a plant sprout within a day. It needs to have nutrients, sunlight, and time. I'm still waiting for you to give me that.

So this journey of pain has made the image of you in my head change. You don't seem to be a person that makes me happy anymore. Only one that makes me feel bad about myself. Ashamed at what I find in me. It's frankly hard to believe...the person that painted these memories with me...years of memories...is the same one that is making me stand there. Stand motionless. And get hit.