To the Girl Who I Fell out of Love
You are extravagant; an amazing work of art, much amazing than those of Van Gogh’s Starry Night paintings, that I appreciated in my whole existence on this planet. A rose whose petals were way too delicate to touch, softest of the soft, yet thorns that'll wound you severely if one does not know how to handle, carry, pick, and admire. A universe that so immense that every inch of you is a constellation that twinkles amidst the darkness of the cosmos, inestimable to one’s naked eyes but hardly exposing itself in mine.
You were once a world that I entered and never regretted to have ever done that; a world of majestic and beauty of which I never shame of having myself in it.
I knew, the first time I laid eye on you, you are going to be a meaningful part of my life, and I wasn't wrong about that ever since.
It was enchanting when we fell in love with each other. Days were years that we counted and every moonshine was countless of sleepless nights we had talked and mingled and enjoyed with each other with different topics about almost everything, or just about us. We yearned on each other's details, dumbfounded and in every detail was a canvass made to explain one another's thoughts and emotions.
We thought we could make it; I always thought that one day you'll be the one whom I wait to walk along with her arm around his father, escorting him throughout a red carpet doused with flower petals while the choir sings their songs – and while I wait at the of the aisle.
I was wrong; too much imagination for me, I guess. Though I was never wrong to choose you, to love you, to build something with you, to have a life with you, and a life full of love with the ideas of you and most especially you. I was wrong of my expectations, of good endings I’ve read in fairy-tale books when I was a kid, and I had it so high that it made me crumbled up as I fell swiftly into the ground with the most terrifying impact, breaking the glasses, shattering the ground I feel into, and finally having the hard to pick up all the pieces for the fear of hurting myself even more.
I have always thought that we are the end and the end of us is being together, but I never thought that we would come to a time where everything would end — and would finally end us, our bond.
But I am sorry for all the promises I gave, I said, but keep all the gifts – the physical gifts and the gift of learning, the lessons I may have taught these past times. All those plans are wasted time discussing how or when we’ll do our goals, our hopes, one day, but sadly that day would never come for me.
I am happy that I am now fully out of your life, please take this as a certainty; I have pulled away from your soul, yet I'm still trying to depart from your heart. It still aches, as if a thousand of bee stings were impaled to it. However, day by day, I take out each sting. Piece-by-piece, and day-by-day, I heal — and I strive to become a better person than I was before, a person that someday might be better enough for you to finally forgive.
I got out of your world, but I never regret exiting from it, too.
I want to thank you for all the lessons you've taught me. I want to thank you for the moments we have had, the times we have had spent, and the love you have had for me – the love that you gave that I still believe was real and authentic. I want to thank you for having me hurt and change, but don't worry, I believed that I have changed for the better.
I wish you all the best and I hope that all those plans of yours, with your new lover, will be accomplished someday. I still can't believe you would do such, a denial, but I accepted my fate. I accepted that I won't rand would never reach your standards or expectations, even if you say you don't have any; even if I loved you more than I could.
And please don't worry about my plans, those I had told you, because I'll do them myself; I'll complete the tasks and wishes myself and for myself because I can't bear to have them accomplished for someone else, the ones I’m going to love in the future deserves much better; because I can only do them with you — even though you're not mine anymore.
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© 2019 Darius Razzle Paciente