If this is him, if this is who he truly is… then…
Who was the guy that I liked? The guy that made me feel safe? That made me feel appreciated and loved in a way? The guy that seemed to make everything feel better… the guy that was there for me. The guy that would always comfort me, who would tell me to smile; because he loved it when I did. He was the guy that told me that talking to me made him feel safe, understood. That it felt like routine, that even if we didn’t talk for a day, he would feel unbearably incomplete. And now I know how it feels like. And it feels awful. I miss him. We would talk for hours, and we would get worried if the other didn’t reply quickly. I felt like someone actually wanted to talk to me. That I actually had a use in this world. He told me so much about him, his feelings, his thoughts; everything. And I did the same to him. We we’re each other’s safe place, in a way. We even promised each other that as long as the other didn’t give up, the other wouldn’t as well. That we would get through this together. I felt like I actually had something, someone worth living for. I felt special. And I guess that’s where I messed up. Because I wasn’t. At least, if I was, I’m not special now. And that’s fine… you know.
Because I don’t know who this person is. The person who was once my reason to smile is now the reason of me crying myself to sleep each night. The reason why my chest aches when he doesn’t chat, when he spends time with them instead. No, I’m not jealous. I never have been. Its just the feeling of being replaced, the feeling of not being needed anymore that tears me up inside more than anything else. The feeling that just because he has someone else now, he doesn’t need me anymore.
I miss talking to him, being understood, comforted- feeling needed. My heart aches for it, every day. Memories roll down my cheeks and stain my pillow at night, as i try to accept this bitter fact. The fact that he no longer has anything to do with me. And I have to be okay with that. People come and go anyway, they change. And I have to adapt. Even if it causes me such great sorrow and my heart refuses to follow my head, I must do it. Otherwise I will be the one to get hurt. And I’m just so damn tired of getting hurt. Of being used, replaced and of people coming back only to fuck me up once again. Its cruel, as if this world doesn’t want me to be happy. Maybe I just wasn’t made to be happy. All happiness is temporary anyway. I just wish that it lasted longer. I wish our friendship, or whatever we had, lasted longer.
Who was he? Where is he? I need to know. I keep on telling myself that I’m done, that I must get rid of him too, but I can’t. Being attached sucks, and I wish I never did get attached to him, whoever he was.
But maybe one day, in another life, we could meet again. In a coffee shop, a library, a classroom. Maybe it would work out then. Maybe the world would let us be happy. Maybe fate wouldn’t be so cruel; maybe it wouldn’t take you away from me. It might not be now, or tomorrow, or the day after that. But someday, I will find you. We will find each other again, and this time, maybe the happiness wouldn’t end so soon.