I wonder how many months of crying myself to sleep will it take for me to wake up one morning and realize that I don’t deserve this, that I don’t want to love you anymore. I loved you, with everything I’ve ever had. With high hopes that maybe, it won’t turn out as another set of disconnected memories that I have to repeatedly bury every time it’ll flash right through my very eyes. But was it ever? Worthy, I mean. You, breathing someone else’s air while I’m left alone suffocated by the thoughts of you holding somebody else’s hand. You, smiling and laughing remembering her, as if my name doesn’t even pass through your head, not even for a minute. And for every single time you utter the words I love you, just because you think it’ll make me okay, little do you know it stabs my heart as I think about how good it must’ve felt when you say the exact words to her, too. And it makes me want to rip out something in my chest and take away all possible reason of what’s causing it to break into pieces. Because all the while I was starting to think that maybe, I could be your home too, that I could be that person you’ll look forward to seeing every morning. Then again, how do I expect someone to come home every morning when I’m always left alone at night? I guess I just kind of hoped too much that maybe you’d love me enough to choose me. Perhaps, I was never in your choices at all.