You.

You’re the only girl I ever loved.

With you, I felt like I could be myself. No games to play, no pretending to be interested in things I didn’t care for, no tiptoeing around certain subjects for fear of offending you. No, with you, I was me, the me few know.

Conversation, interaction, attraction — effortless.

Even when we fought it became a battle of wits, and you were a worthy advisory. Despite the distance, we never lost contact, and I tried to make it work.

To a point, it did.

In different circumstances, we would have been together.

But.

You didn’t love me. Because you wouldn’t do the crazy thing to make it work. You stayed practical, measurable, all business, like a CEO, ironic that was your dream job.

Yet even with that knowledge,  You didn’t want to let me go, you loved the fantasy, you kept up the mysticism of how we stayed in touch — for a while.

And yet, you didn’t want to see what could have been.

Maybe you were scared, maybe you just saw it to a certain point. I guess I’ll never know, nor do I care to.

You moved on. I moved on. It’s over. Whatever fantasy or dream either of us had has dissipated in the realms of reality.

You told me recently you don’t like thinking of what could have been — that’s fair.

Personally, I think it could have been great, but I accept the shroud of falsehood beckoned but never fulfilled.

You are no longer the pedestal I hold every other woman up to, because a pedestal’s bound to wither and break.

Consciously, I was over you quickly, but subconsciously, you still haven’t left. You probably never will, but that’s ok.

To trash you would ignore what you did for me. You showed me I don’t have to run from who I am.

In this new incarnation of myself — I’ve never felt better. Through the storm, I’ve found the sun and can finally move past you, for real this time, continuing my path with new eyes of perspective.

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