I’m jealous of someone you’re not even in a relationship with yet, for she can be there, physically, to touch you and to fully experience your greatness. It pains me to know she’ll be able caress all of you with a delicate embrace wherever and whenever she just so chooses, and that I can’t. I wish for your happiness and I wish that you have no trouble moving on. I don’t really know if what we had meant anything to you. I’m stupidly aware of reality and mind over matter, but the problematic matter that is haunting me is that I still love you. You tell me that you want to be sensible about your present and your future, but why can’t that involve me? Why does distance have to keep me from ever being the girl you’re with? I know it hurts, believe me, this isn’t the first time I’ve ever fallen for someone either, but why am I always the one to give and give when people like you never want to try and keep it consistent in return? Am I not worth the hurt? The fact that it hurts means that it matters. Or at least, that you cared and loved. I wasn’t intending on ever giving up. I thought you were in love with me because I fucking am with you. You’re so stupidly unaware you’re tearing me apart. The mascara tears have stained my face, they won’t stop falling. I can’t even go one minute without wondering why I can’t be what you need. I’m certainly not what you want. I’m not okay with this. I don’t want to let you go. I want you in my life one way or another but it hurts so much. For your sake, I’ll continue to force out the constant “I hope you’re doing well“‘s and “Best of luck“‘s and “How’s it going between you and her?“‘s, but all I have is an empty heart of lost hope. Dead hope. Hope is something you liked about me, but why? It’s only destroying the both of us. Well, with you, I don’t know anymore. With me, I am nothing. I am numb. You made me feel. You gave me even more hope, that something you seemed to enjoy, something that was quickly ripped away from me in the midst of confrontation. I’m sorry I couldn’t make you happy enough. I’m sorry I am not enough because no matter how much you say otherwise, I feel like I don’t exist, like my feelings don’t matter. Because they don’t, neither do I.