We’re ten years apart, but age was just a number for us.
You knew me like the back of your hand.
How I turned into a chatterbox when I was with you.
How I always fell silent when I was upset.
How I tried hard to keep it in so I wouldn’t say something I’d regret.
How we’d hug it out after our silence because some things were better left unsaid.
You understood me more than I did myself.
But I walked away.
We broke up over the phone because I knew I’d change my mind if I saw you. I refused to meet you because I knew I’d come running back to your arms.
I cried on the bus, and cried some more when I came home.
The days that followed were as empty as I felt inside.
Work, home, repeat.
I dated to forget.
And I did.
Time really heals all wounds.
But on some nights, I find myself looking up your name and staring at it more than I should, mentally debating with myself whether to call you or not.
I miss you.
You were my mentor, my bestfriend and my cheerleader. You were my number one supporter.
You were everything I had when I had nothing.
And I was everything you got when your world started to fall apart, but unlike you, I turned my back on you.
I’m sorry I broke your heart. I’m sorry I broke you.
I should’ve tried harder for both of us, but I chose to give you up. I was a fool for believing I wanted more. I didn’t want more, I just failed to see you were enough.
It’s like what they always say: what goes around, comes around.