i have no title for this yet..

“and while talking to you made me feel better, I’m glad it’s over. You being gone made me learn a few more things about myself. Made me learn about how I want to be as a person in general. You helped me become “me” in a way that I cannot explain in words because it’s more of a feeling? The growth I had in the last couple months are all thanks to you. Even though you told me to fuck off, and we didn’t talk for months, this is all thanks to you. You made me, and I’m thankful for that, but I don’t need you anymore. I’m better off without you honestly, in every way possible.
…
At least that’s what I tell myself when I start to think about you again. That I DONT need you. That I’m better off being alone.
But that’s simply not the truth. I feel like a little girl again, wondering what I did wrong. Though now I understand why things are the way they are, and I know that it isn’t my fault.
But it still feels like something is missing. Like it somehow IS my fault.
We didn’t know eachother very long, a couple of months.. But you made me feel like no one ever has before. And I’m not talking about “lewd” thoughts or anything like that. I’m talking about feeling like a person. You were the first to make me feel.. safe I guess? You made me feel like I was worth something.
And with you leaving like that, with that bullshit of a reason, makes me want to question everything.
How am I supposed to go on without thinking about you?
How DARE you tell me that I should just move on like nothing ever happened?
You touched my soul in a way no one else ever had. It was the purest form of love I’ve ever felt. You reached down to it and you held it firm, keeping it safe from any danger until you looked at me with the most confusing look on your face I’ve ever seen, and you ripped your hand away so hard, it felt like you didn’t let go off of it. And now I have a wound on my chest shaped like your hand, and I swear I can feel it hurting more and more everyday. The wound healed but you ripped my soul out and took it with you when you left..
…
And maybe Im crazy, writing you this letter in the middle of the night, listening to your favorite songs on repeat for hours on end, but I NEED you to know how I feel.
Talking to you face to face is pointless, you just tell me it’s your decision. I KNOW it’s your decision but I want to feel your warmth again. I want to feel your cold but soft hands on my cheeks, holding my face up so you can look at me better. I want to feel your love, I want this hurting to stop.
I want to move on. I keep telling myself that I’m fine and that it doesn’t bother me, but I want you to reach into me again and give me my soul back.
…
I think the problem with that is when you give it back, I wouldn’t want you to go away again. I would want you to keep your hand on it, keeping it warm, loving me. So maybe it’s good that you keep it. I don’t know what you’re doing with it. Keeping it hidden somewhere? Carrying it around with you? Or did you throw it away and that’s why it’s so easy for you to forget me?
But I like to think that you kept it safe somewhere. That every now and then you dig it up again and keep it close to you, warming it up. That would explain the sudden warmth feeling on my heart I get sometimes.. Mostly in the night.
I like to think that you’re loving it the way you love me.. loved.
But that’s just me gaslighting myself into feeling better again.
…
I love you. I love you so much my heart hurts. It’s the only thing left that’s keeping me safe.
Honestly, stay away. Leave me alone. Keep my damn soul with you. If you come back, you’ll hurt my heart. It already has wounds on it that YOU left. If you come back again, you’ll tear it open just to watch me bleed and ask for your closure in my last moments. You know me too well after all.
Everything in my body is screaming at me to not write this, but my brain is winning this fight. I love you so much, but please have mercy on me already.”
…. she wrote trough tears rolling down her cheeks. The tears hit the paper, smudging the ink. But she kept writing, with each word the tears came more, her body shaking with sorrow, but she didn’t stop writing. As she wrote the last sentence, her hand gave out, the pen falling onto the smudged piece of paper with the words written straight from her heart. She scanned it, re-reading it hundreds of times, searching for something. She wasn’t sure what that “thing” was, but she looked for it anyway. The sobs became more, she could barely catch another breath. Her head hit the table hard, but she didn’t even flinch. The pain made her feel something else other than the overwhelming feeling of her heart breaking more and more, but it wasn’t enough to push her back into reality. So she stayed like that. Sobbing mess, about to pass out from lack of oxygen. Her body became too heavy to hold up, so it collapsed right again the table and into her seat
….