I used to think that I only write when I’m sad or heartbroken.
It makes me think that I only love sadness.
Every time I’m happy, I didn’t have anything to say, but when I’m sad - I’ve got million of words flowing through my mind.
I’ve learnt to just accept it; to write only when I’m sad.
I’ve learnt it’s my coping mechanism.

I love him. I care about him more than anything in this world.
At some point, I thought that he was my forever. Except two years later, I didn’t feel happy.
No, scratch that, I’ve been unhappy for awhile.
I have only been prolonging the break up.
He was perfect; a perfect gentleman. Although he has his cons, he was a great man.
I was his first love. The man have never dated anyone before. I used to think I was lucky.
He always makes sure that I’m happy, and never sad. He tries to cheer me up with his dumb jokes.
He always stayed positive even if we were 700km away, separated by the sea.
He had faith in me. He had faith in us. That made me stayed. That made me love him.

But he was also naive. He didn’t know how to really make me happy. I’m not trying to sound ungrateful; because I am grateful for his presence. He learns things on social media on how to make a girl happy. He tried hard to make me happy when we’re far away from each other. He bought me gifts, he always helped me.

But all I wanted was to be understood.

I tried explaining to him a lot of times. But sometimes, people do have a hard time understanding mental illness and I don’t blame him for that. I stopped making him understand about me. I still stood by his side; pushing him to be the best version of himself. I had no one but him in my lowest moments, and so I stayed for him. I fought hard for our relationship.

Until I couldn’t fight anymore.

I felt caring for him was tiring. I felt keeping it all inside was tiring. I felt like making him understand is tiring because he just never understands. He tried to help; or so he thought; but it was never a help. There were words that I’ve listened to a lot of times.

I didn’t want to be a burden to him anymore. I tried to hold on by reading our texts, trying to remember everything that we’ve been together. I tried to think of what our friends would’ve handled it. I thought about him. I thought of us.

But I never thought of me.
I realized I was holding on to the relationship because it was for him and other people.
I’m telling him soon that I’m leaving him.
I have always cared for him. He will always have a special place in my heart.

But I matter most.