Every day, I tell myself I get it now. I finally understand. I try to accept the fact that she’s gone—not today, not recently, but since 2014. That was it. That was my ending. And yet, here I am, years later, still acting like I have a chance, still acting like she was ever meant to stay.
I was never worth it. That’s the truth I keep trying to swallow. She was never mine to keep, never mine to lose, never even mine to miss. She’s just an angel, someone far beyond my reach. And yet, this stupid brain of mine keeps running in circles, keeps replaying old memories like they mean something. Keeps hoping for a miracle that was never going to happen.
And then, like clockwork, the sun sets, the sky turns dark, and that crazy, traumatized demon inside me wakes up—like some anime villain making a dramatic entrance into my mind. It paces around, whispering all the same questions I’ve asked a thousand times. Why am I like this? Why do I feel like this? Why do I even care? It’s not like I did something wrong. It’s not like I messed this up. It was never in my control. It was never my choice.
And that’s when the real madness starts. I stop blaming myself and start blaming everything else. God. Fate. The universe. Why the hell did he even let me meet her if she was never meant to stay? What kind of sick joke was this? Did he put her in my life just to ruin me? Just to leave me with memories I can’t erase? Why don’t I deserve love like hers? Why is it so easy for others, but not for me?
The questions pile up, the anger builds, and the answers never come. And in the end, I’m just sitting there, staring at the ceiling, exhausted from a fight I already know I’ll lose.
Tomorrow, I’ll wake up and pretend I’ve moved on. Pretend I understand. Pretend I don’t care.
But I know how this goes. Same story. Different day.