We went from talking every day to once a week, if I was lucky. Midnight conversations turned to staring at the phone and silently willing you to message me back. Meeting every chance we got turned to whenever we could be bothered; which for you was never.
I don't know what I did to make you lose interest in me or What happened to make you realise you didn't love me. Maybe I wasn't good enough, or maybe you were too good for me. But either way, I now spend every minute I have daydreaming of what we used to be. Of what we used to have. And I spend every second fearing what is to come in the near future. Because I know that no matter how much your weeks of distance have prepared me; what is bound to happen will break me
