I haven’t written about you in such a long time already. I had so many things to get off my chest, feelings to express in words, but somehow, I couldn’t. Until now.
When you told me that there was a small chance that you might die from this illness of yours, I felt as though I couldn’t bear not writing about you anymore.
Like I’ve said, its been a long time. And while I wasn’t writing about you, I was trying to stop these feelings. These feelings that were turning on me, hurting me and tearing my heart apart each day that passed. I was trying to get used to the fact that the past can never be returned, those days where we both actively participated in these sessions of ours; where every problem seemed to have a solution- where comfort was just one chat away, one screen serving as a boundary. Those days where our problems felt so small under the kind, encouraging words we wrote to each other. How even each other’s presence seemed calming in this chaotic world.
Those days are over, as far as I’m concerned. With so much stress that happened, with events escalating like that, there was no way our happiness could last. Our masks were starting to crumble, the light in our eyes started getting dull. But just as we thought all was lost, you found a ray of sunshine, lighting up your world for you.

And of course, that never would have been me. I’m just a therapist, after all, a wingman. I was never made to be with you, and you seem perfectly happy with her.
And at the same time, she makes you feel incredibly lonely as well. Doesn’t she?

I thought you no longer needed me, to be honest. That’s why I tried to be cold. Because you will most likely avoid contact with me for the next few months. Because I felt like you no longer needed me. After all, you had her.
But when you chatted me again, telling me your sadness and worries, I realized. My job was not yet done, after all. You are no longer a person whom I can vent to, who I can share my sadness and worries to. But I guess I can still be that person to you. I have grown so incredibly attached to you, I’ve grown soft to you. Even now, I still am…

But my heart no longer yearns for you. I spent so many nights crying my heart out for you, and I know now that I shouldn’t have. I never should have kept these feelings a secret from you, to salvage whatever we had. But now, I think of you as a friend. I don’t hate you for the pain you have caused me, for the unexplained coldness and late “sorry”s. But I don’t love you anymore. Not in that way, at least. I can’t bring myself to kill off our friendship, let alone this strange bond we have. So I deleted my feelings instead. It’s better this way. For both you and me. You have her now, anyway. I don’t need to get in the way, with all my unnecessary bullshit. So it’s fine.

I’m fine. We’re both fine. Those happy days are gone now, and that’s fine. I just need to accept it and carry on. Sure, my heart feels incomplete now, since those talks felt almost like routine, and you were becoming a part of me. But maybe I really did need to let you go. To let these feelings go. And I am.
And… if we don’t talk again, remember I loved you.



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