Mediocrity

To The Person I Loved, and Still Love

We've both been hurt. I've hurt you. You've hurt me. And getting over you would be so much easier if I knew you didn't love me. But you did. A love that was true. A love I felt whenever I looked at you and you looked back at me with equal passion. With every warmth you made me feel whenever you embrace me or held my hands. With all of your sweet kisses. With all the responses you made to my attempts of being the sweetest person all those mornings I looked forward to because of you. All that you did to show how much you cared. You loved me. I felt it.

And now, you are doing all these things to another person. Someone new is lucky enough to be loved by you. When I heard of this, I was hurt. A lot. Even if it has long been over between us, it still hurts. But at that moment when I saw how happy you looked when he was there by your side, I thought to myself that that is the kind of happiness you deserve to feel. If he makes you happy, I'll be okay with it. I'll slowly learn to be okay with it. That is how much I love you. I'm willing to embrace the pain of seeing you with him, neglecting that pinching pain in my heart when I see how happy he makes you. Ignoring the torment made by my own thoughts whenever I couldn't help but think of what you both do and say to each other when you're alone together.

You're happy. And I'm glad that you found someone that makes you feel that way. Please love him the way you loved me, or give him something greater. I'll pray that he does the same to you. Please. Be happy. I'll be happy, too. When the time comes.

But for now, I have my bed and sheets to keep me warm, my pillows to catch every bit of tear I try not to shed, and myself to hold myself.

Don't worry. I'll be okay. I'll get over you.

I wish I can.