It's been almost three years, three years of me being sad about our almost. I know that sounds lame. I still keep writing about you until now.
I still feel bad about how time can ruin and destroy the reality I used to believed we could both have. I still see those flashbacks in my mind clearly, hoping that we could somehow turn and twist things a little bit, change them. But I end up laughing at myself. It's funny how I never got to let all of those memories slip away, and just let my mind and heart be at peace.
Maybe you really are just a tornado, you entered and left without notice, leaving behind the disaster you have caused in me.
It's almost been three years, three years after you have uttered the words that caused me to stay where I was for a long time. Those words that made my entire being feel like exploding all at once together with all the emotions mixed up.
Now that I am a bit old enough to comprehend what happened, it turns out that I failed to take into account the sincerity, authenticity, legitimacy, validity that would imply how real everything you showed me was. That leaves me nothing but the clear view of who's to blame. Clearly, it's my fault. I made my own drama. I made my own blackhole. I made my own misery. I made my own heartbreak.
As I was writing every word, I felt like I was freeing myself from all those things I made only to cause harm to myself. Maybe, that's the good thing about this, too. I learned that as you admit the wrongs you've committed and become honest to yourself, you allow yourself to be free from the prison you made. I am now free, I guess.