Being alone is good... Honestly, it’s comforting, it’s safe, it’s cool. But too much of it starts to rot you from the inside. And yeah, I avoid people. I push them away. Whenever someone tries to reach out, tries to start something real, I just leave… as if it doesn’t even matter enough to look back. But the truth? Most of the time I’m the one being left. I have friends, sure, but I always feel like I’m forcing myself to fit into their world, their dreams that were never my own. Yes, I hate people. I hate how hypocritical they are, how they pretend, how shallow they can be, how they act like compassion is some rare currency. But most of the time, they’re the ones who hate me. It’s always me. The outcast. The unwanted. The rejected. The one people avoid, despised, dismissed. I swallow it all, but sometimes it becomes too heavy to carry. It crushes me. It makes me want to break down. I feel stuck inside a bubble I can’t escape, screaming with no sound.
But then I met you.
Maybe it was too sudden, too random, too surprising... but it felt true. It was genuine. It felt right. You were the one who pulled me back when I was drowning. You dug me out of the grave I buried myself in. You made me feel seen, made me feel important. That as if I wasn’t just another replaceable body in the world. My life finally meant something the moment you appeared.
I found him. I love you.
You understood me when everyone else failed. You were my home, my light, my warmth on a cold rainy night. You were everything. My escape. My comfort. My safety. My joy... And I love you... But still, I pushed you away. Maybe out of fear. Fear of being weak. Fear of being hurt again. MY fear of them. I hated that. I hated myself for that. I ripped your heart out and buried it deep when it should’ve been beating right next to mine.
I hate myself.
I hate that I let you slip away. The way I treated you. The way I burned you until there was barely anything left. And even after that, you stayed standing. You stayed loyal. I let someone else take you, touch you, hold you... but you were still mine. I knew it. And even then, I shattered you again. I was selfish. I let my pride devour you. You were my everything, and then I sold you to someone new. And unlike me, she promised to stay. Unlike me, she held you gently rather than breaking you. She treated you like the treasure you are, while I treated you like disposable trash. That alone proves what kind of monster I became.
And maybe a part of me is genuinely happy for you. Maybe there’s relief in seeing you loved properly. But still… something in me aches. I want you again. I want your warmth. Your fire. I tore down my walls for you, but I never tore them down completely—and maybe that’s why you’re better off in someone else’s arms.
But I won’t say goodbye—because you’ll never really leave me. Not in my mind. Not in my memories. Not in the parts of me you changed.
So here are my final words:
I love you. Until we meet again.