For whoever reads this,

The first person I ever loved was not myself, but him, and maybe that was my biggest mistake.

I learned to love the dimple on his cheek, and the lines under his eyes when he smiled.
I learned to love the way his eyes turned angry when we yelled at each other, to love the way his hands tightened around my arms.
I loved the way his lips lingered on my skin after begging me to peel off my layers of my clothes.
I dug up every little piece of who he was, and planted it inside my heart.
I kept love for him everywhere I went, and even when he left me, my heart was still full.
I had put so much effort into loving him, that I forgot to love myself.
I saw no beauty unless the beauty I saw was his eyes, I saw no greater happiness, than when I saw his smile.

So, whenever I looked in the mirror, I felt numb, I felt hate.

I could not love the way my hair got wavy when it was damp, even though I always twirled pieces of his hair in my fingers.
I could not feel sweet melancholy when tears ran down my face, but I could when I wiped away his.
I could not get undressed and look at my skin, because it was only worth looking at when he looked.

I could not love myself, because I thought it was supposed to be fulfilled by someone else.

I had become nothing but a daisy, waiting for my petals to be picked, he loves me, he loves me not.

I only ever felt love, when it was given to me by someone else.
I could not feel love if it was given to me by myself.

I could only love me when he loved me, but now he doesn't.

He loves her.