I don’t understand my feelings. I just hate having them, hate feeling them. They make me feel vulnerable, make me feel like a horrible person. But maybe it’s not just a feeling — maybe it’s the reality, and it just hurts too much to admit. I thought I was better than that, but maybe that’s just what I try to convince myself of, just to help me stand up for myself. I hate everything about me, about trying to change but only imagining it — never truly making the change real. That’s why he left me, at least that’s how I see it. I promised him things I never did. I lied to his face just to have him. How could anyone call that love? But I did love him, I’m sure about that — at least I think I did. But still, I need to forget now, to move on from what we were, because we are nothing anymore. And it hurts so much knowing I destroyed everything before it was even built. Maybe I wasn’t made for that kind of relationship. Maybe it was just a sign telling me not to get involved romantically. At least that what I think. I mean, he knew it from the start and told me how it will be for him, for us. He told me the things he was afraid of, what could make him lose the spark. I knew — I knew literally everything. And I was there, making him feel confident, telling him I would make him forget those fears he had about us, only in the end to create even more. And I can only blame myself now, but at the same time I want to believe that no matter what we did, it would have ended the same — just to make myself feel a little better. Even though I knew, somehow, that no matter what, I would have ruined it. At least that’s my point of view. I heard someone say, “What’s not meant for you will disappoint you a thousand times until you understand.” And I believe it’s true, because I can’t count how many times he must have been disappointed in me. I think he knew he should let go — for us, for himself. And he did the right thing. At least that’s what I feel. Now he talks to someone else, and even if it’s not going as well as he wants, I hate seeing him try to get someone else’s attention. But at the same time, I think I’m kind of happy he didn’t stay stuck like me. I’m glad he’s not as foolish as I am, not understanding when something ends. And I can’t stop looking at his profile, asking myself thousands of questions, putting “what if” before every sentence. The worst is that I understand them. I understand him. This girl is so pretty, stylish, kind, funny, sweet to others. And how could I not understand, after being with him and still not succeeding in forgetting him? Maybe it’s hard for me to forget him because I’m not just trying to forget a person — I’m trying to forget the feelings I had for him and with him. The moments we shared, alone or with others. The words we exchanged to make each other feel safe. The memories — from the unforgettable ones to the quietest, smallest silences. What I’m trying to say is that the hardest part isn’t forgetting him. It’s forgetting this love we thought would never tear us apart. But it didn’t tear us apart — I did. At least that’s how it ended, if you ask me. In the end, I’m just trying to get over him as easily as he got over me — but without forgetting what we shared, and what I cherished.