For once, you were right. We were everything wrong about each other that were a mess but totally made sense. I hate admitting you are right. Specially, now.
For once, I was wrong. I knew what we were doing is a shot to the moon and I was prepared for the consequences. No one ever told me that it could hurt me to the point of wanting to die.
For once, I remember our arguments. I couldn’t see it before, but we were in some ugly fights where our sharp words cut deep into the soul. Not realizing the extent of the damage, we let it be and bled from within.
Thinking back now, I don’t remember much of our happy memories. What I recall are the moments I was angry, the moments when we were disappointed with each other, the moments that made us a couple of sad souls. There were too much of it that the happy ones were easily buried in the pile.
I’d say to people that we were not always this dysfunctional. There was a time that we loved deeply and it led us to hurt each other badly. But I should have known that nostalgia was a dirty liar that insists that things were better than they seem.
We’ve been taping plasters to a heart that is broken hoping it will start beating even without the right pieces. We tried to fit into each other but we weren’t the right cut to be together and we caused pain to one another instead.
For once, I’m glad it’s over. You can finally stop drinking yourself to a stupor so you could forget the pain I caused you. I can finally stop smoking and burning all our memories so I can move on from you.
For once, we can forgive ourselves for trying too hard only to end up hurting. We loved as passionately as the sun. And so we burned as brightly as it did.
But we weren’t the sun. We are matches burning and returning to dust after our love. Someday a phoenix will be born in our stead. Maybe then we’d fit together. Maybe we’ll be right for each other some other time. Maybe. But not for now.