Dear you,

In my most unguarded hours, when there's nothing more to do than to unseeingly look at the ceiling cracks, I find myself thinking of you and how it could have been.
The deeper I get into it, the more I realize that your leaving and you not having time for me were not the only problems we had. Sometimes, I blame myself for this faied, nonexistent relationship. For the most part while you were away, I watched this relationship ruin itself. I felt like I had dismissed my responsibility to help it endure everything. I was tolerant, oblivious and lazy even, for not fixing things that eventually built up to be bigger problems that seem much more difficult to fix.

I guess holding on to you and to this relationship made me value myself lesser for letting it treat me that way. Still, I held on to your silent promise that you still loved me.
And it worked for some time: the self-inflicted taps on the back, my scrunched up drawing of the future we planned and my petty reassurances that you were still mine.
But they were short-lived.
Like my patience.
In the end, my pride and hatred for self-pity got the best of me. And there are still times when I would wonder if i made the right decision,
if I would have been happier if I held on a little longer..