It has been 20 days. 20 days that seemed like 20 years. I cannot believe how I ever got through those blurry days that I let pass me by because I was grieving. Grieving for the loss of someone who is still very much alive, but my connection with her has died.
I remember the night. Where I was. When she said those words that sent my world crashing and burning and destroyed my very soul. I was distraught, to say the least, when she broke up with me.
By the morning I let my tears fall in front of her when I begged for her to take me back. She said I needed to figure out where I had gone wrong before she would give me another chance. However, I took things to a completely different path when I went all psycho and ruined my one shot at having the love of my life back.
To say that the past 20 days have been difficult would be an understatement. It was hell. My very own armageddon. To live out days without meaning, without direction. To see her and not being able to touch her. To lose her into the abyss of my destruction.
I had not meant for her to grow tired of my recklessness. I was blinded by a love that I believed would be enough to conquer the worst. Up until this very moment, I regret what I had done. The countless times I was reckless and inconsiderate. The times I was selfish.
For nights I have poured my tears out and they sunk into random pillows . I hid under the sheets while recollecting memories, thoughts of her. My bed is a first-hand witness to all those moments when I could hardly breathe looking at pictures of her. Of us.
I recalled everything she wrote to me. How she kissed me like she I was the only one she ever loved. How she wrapped in her arms as if there was no tomorrow. How she smiled. How she laughed. How she held my hand while we walked along the busy streets.
I still remember how every inch of her felt. I remember us under the covers. On beds that held our deepest secrets. I remember the very first time our lips touched. And how she told me "Ako raka" which translated to "You're mine." And god, now, there is nothing I want more than to be just that.
She was mine. But I took that for granted. I did not know how weary she was, how tired her heart was of loving someone who had the wrong idea of love. Losing her also meant losing my heart.
I will always, always love her. There won't be a night of me laying on my bed thinking that I could have done better. And feel ashamed because it took losing my love for me to know what she really meant. I'm not sure if there is still a fight left in me. But even if there was,
I'm too late. Someone else already has her heart. And the last thing I would want is to break it. Again.
