I loved you.
Maybe not in the right way. Maybe not in the deep way that two people in love should feel.
But I loved who you were as a person. Who you are.
I love what you stand for, and I love the person you made me.
You came into my life during a season of need. You picked me up from months of devastation, without ever really knowing it. You lifted me through past heartaches, pushed my limits and brought so much joy to my life after a wave of sadness.
I was convinced you'd be a fling, someone who wouldn't stick around very long. I decided right away that a man as devastatingly handsome as you would get bored of me quickly.
Much to my surprise, there was so much more behind those deep brown eyes and that boyish smile. There was a whole world that you brought me into.
You made me excited to go on dates again. You had a thirst for adventure and a playfulness that my heart desperately needed.
Now that we've broken up, I find myself angry and frustrated. It's not because we ended things. And it's not because of the reasoning, the timing or the way it all happened.
I am angry because it hurts. I am angry because, despite knowing you and I are not each other's people, and despite slowly seeing us unravel for months, I still miss you.
I am angry that we went from phone calls and texts all day long to not speaking. I am angry that, when something funny or exciting happens, I still want to call you.
I am mad that you were once my friend, and now that is just a memory.
I am angry that it hurts to lose you, to lose our friendship, to lose who we were to each other.
I know deep down we were not on the right path. We were not in the same place or moving forward. I knew for months that there were things I needed from the relationship that I was never going to get. I knew that, but I cared too much for you to say it.
Now, I feel relief that I don't have to give those things up again, while also feeling the ache of knowing we are not friends.
I am not mad that we broke up. I am mad that it hurts.
We are parallel lines — moving forward silently, growing and dating and becoming better versions of ourselves.
I give a nod to you from afar and wish you well. I still miss the friendship, and it still hurts to not have your number in my phone. Your voice became a great comfort, one that I still miss on bad days.
I wish you well in life. I carry no animosity. We are who we are.
The anger I hold is not for you. It's for my pain. It's for grief. It's for an end to a friendship. It's for guilt.
But it's not for you.