Saying goodbye to you is the hardest thing I have ever done.
You have always been my one. My what if. My intangible moments of clarity in the confusion; what we were, what I was to you. Sometimes crystal clear, sometimes so clouded I could no longer see my hand in front of my face.
It’s like I spent most of my life building you up, creating this superhero version of you in my mind, comparing all others to you. Which was warranted, of course. Because you are, in fact, amazing (and strongly give off a Thor-like energy).
This was our chance though. It was this moment.
We are not kids anymore. We have the timing. We have the love. We have so much fun (most of the time). But it wasn’t right. You see, I love you more. I have always loved you more. Since elementary school, when you had a bowl cut and wore Hawaiian shirts, to now. When I offered all of myself to you and didn’t get all of you in return.
To be fair, you warned me you wanted to keep some of you for yourself. You did warn me.
But I guess I thought you would still want to give me more than you did. More than a convenience, a safe security that will always be there no matter what, because we both knew I always would be.
I don’t want just anyone. I want you. I always have and always will. But I don’t want to lose myself in the process. I faded into you. I fought for my place in your life so hard that I collapsed into myself. I work so hard to be whatever you need. I would move the mountains we grew up in for you.
Alas, I have finally come to the conclusion you are not what is best for me. I want to give you my all, you see, and you only want to give me parts. Our scales aren’t even. (And I am a Libra.)