I need to stop writing about you. The more I write about you, the fonder my heart grows of you and the deeper my mind longs for you. The more I write about you, the sadder the thoughts of you and what’s left of you, get. The more I write about you, the realer reality gets; the reality that I was the unwanted. The more I write about you, the puffier my eyes get in the morning. The more I write about you, the more my heart aches.

But, the thing is, writing about you is the only chance I get to fully let myself dwell and think back on what we had and all the laughters we shared. Writing about you is all I have left to collect the fragments back together and figure out what I did wrong. Writing about you is how I try and figure out how I wasn’t enough to make you stay.