Goodbye. I think it's important to start from the end.
Even though I don't see how we can ever be part of each other's lives again, I don't regret any part of you being there. It's almost impossible for me to write honestly to you/about you because you've put my guard back up. Or maybe I've just run out of feelings.
I love you. At least I think I do. In the simplest way that you love someone. You see them as a whole person. Good and bad and just love them anyway.
I miss you. Not enough to try. Not enough for closure. Not enough to fix what's already broken.
I'm surprised I don't have more to say. I thought when I eventually wrote, it would be soul-filled and pain would be stretched across every line. But maybe that's just my romanticised ideal. It shouldn't be able to end so easily. Love. Relationships.
But it's easy. Too easy. And as much as I loved you being in my life, I like you not being in it more. It took being out of it to realise you weren't really adding anything to it. But do people really do? Maybe you were teaching me to how to give. Give and give and give and never get anything. Because is the point of giving not giving?
But I wish Utopia existed. I wish I could expect nothing. I wish I just wanted to keep giving. But I wanted something in return. I wanted acknowledgement. I wanted you to give too.
I wanted you to give too.
That's what happens when you expect
But no matter how low my expectations went, you always manage to disappoint them. You always managed to make me lower them until they were lowered to nothing. And you still couldn't give me nothing. You still couldn't give me nothing.
Sometimes I'm angry. Not that angry. Angry enough. Sometimes I hate you. But then I hate that I hate you because what I want is to feel nothing towards you.
What I want is for you to tell me all the ways I was wrong. I want to know all the ways I disappointed you. I want my memories of me in me and you to be as flawed as my memories of you are. But more than that, I want to not care. Indifference.
I love you. Now. I miss you. Now. I hate you. A little bit. But eventually, I won't care about you. At all. Not our memories. Not my memories. Not at all.