There is no bigger pain than the one you get at 4 in the morning when you suddenly wake up just to cry because it wasn't a dream.

It's been almost a month and I miss you.
I miss you saying you loved me and all those nights I went to sleep knowing I had you.
I still think about your green eyes and your deep Irish voice.

You won't see this but I want you to know, I NEED you to know that I did love you. I always will and I'm sorry I didn't appreciate you enough for you to stay.

I'm so sorry but just know that it was real. All of it. I love you and hope that maybe one day you and I can get that second shot everyone talks so much about.

The truth about love is that one person is going to be more in love with the other person while that other person is falling for someone else.
That's why I don't believe in love.
That's why I cry myself to sleep when I replay the times you tell me you love me, because while you loved me on Monday by Thursday you already loved three more.

This is not a love letter.
This is not a hate note.
This is me telling you that I fell in love with you and I hate it.

But you'll never know because you don't care so let's keep pretending that you love me and that I'm not too attached, whatever that means.

At the other side of the world, five hours apart you became part of me.
I was everything you hated
you were everything I loved.
You didn't have a sense of humor but I always laughed.
When you said you "take my love and forget I said anything", I just cried because I knew you too were going to forget.
I sent you pictures of me not because I looked good but because I didn't want you to forget me.
You hated books, yet every night I read to you in my dreams.

You said I'm hard to read.
That you never know if I was being serious or if it was all a punch line to one big joke.
That you never knew if my I love yous were real or "I just liked to talk".

You stopped saying "Goodnight my love" because you were no longer scared of losing me, instead you hoped for me to not be there the next morning.

One drunken night I compared you to him because he too had said he would always be there, and you looked at me with anger because "you jut don't do that".

Who am I? you asked.
What's my name?
Where do I live? over and over again as if being scared I had forgotten about you and who you were.

That night you called me by her name.