Love?

I just wish, sometimes, when the song you sent started playing on Spotify, that I could tell you a lot of things.

That when I was with you, I didn't have anyone else.

(Even though I told you I did. I didn't. Not really. I wanted to be tough, I just wanted you to hate me. I didn't even care if I hurt you.)

That I still can't bear to listen to some of the songs we listened together. It's not because I still love you like that, per se,

but everything now is just tinted with regret and mistakes.

I am still not sure whether or not I felt pain because I wasn't your girl or your friend.

I don't know what kind of love I had for you. I wish I could talk to you forever. I wish you continued to look at me like that. I wish your mother liked me, not pitied me. I wish we could just be who we were.

But when you looked at me like you wanted more, I felt so uncomfortable.

Maybe you were my best friend.

But I didn't know any love so pure before.

Before you, no one looked at me before.

Before you, no one said I was a good person. So sure I was a good person. Said I was a wonder. Looked at me like I was the most beautiful being in the world. No one took my side. Not really.

Did I want to be with you or just with you?

Either way, I lost everything.

I wish I would be more aware of my own issues.

I rushed into you so fast my head spinned. I still remember when I sneaked out of the dormitory to meet you, letting you lie on my lap, whispering and giggling together. You loved me. Young love. Pure and filled with wonderment.

So heavy it made me breathless.

I was not ready. So dumb, so young, so naive.

In the end, I let you go.

I moved on. You moved on. But I still regret how I ended things with you. It never healed. No matter how bad I tried to.

There are many different kinds of love. I think.

When I have come to realize that, I know I was also in love.

Gratifying.

Painful.

Liberatibg.

Such freedom from that realization alone, I almost couldn't bear.