The Art of losing you

You said I have to forget you. I have to move on because our feelings were not the same anymore. You went on by admitting that you might have loved me before, just to offer me a mere and soft consolation, before ending our last conversation. 

You’ve tried to convince me out of respect to our memories that your feelings had slowly dwindled. That it wasn’t your choice that your deepened affection has faded. And no one has forced you to stop loving me. That no one, not even you, has committed a mistake like it wasn’t at all intentional. So what was that all about? Why did you ask to grab our supposedly a third chance? After all of your extreme choices, which I mostly wasn’t able to comprehend, you no longer want to take responsibility for the results of this yet another twisted mistake. You no longer want to tie your name in yet another foolish game. You no longer hold yourself accountable for trying to break the walls of my restructured heart, where inside of it, you were already considered as an estranged family member. 

You said I have to let you go again, countless times. But darling—how was I supposed to let go of something that I haven’t got to experience half of what I was aiming for? How can I do the same thing when every time you try to come back, I’ve always wanted so much more, to take chances of what we didn’t do before? 

It wasn’t fair. And I hope you wouldn’t show up to win me back again because I’ve had a long history of loving you and coming back to you without so much remorse for my mended self. 

You said you had to leave. It was as if you were catching for a flight that would take you very far away from me. But I didn’t flinch nor stop you on your way out, as I’ve clearly understood it. I knew someone else was waiting while you try to close this chapter of us. I knew that almost all of what you’ve told me has something to do with what she has on you and what she was asking you to tell me. That’s how much I knew you just by the sound of your lowered voice and moderate gestures. That’s how much I knew that we’re over and done with. 

It’s been a long while now that I’ve stayed silent while moving on, for all your inadmissible mistakes, but this time—I choose to break.