When you lose something that you've convinced yourself is unimportant, it's hard. When you lose someone you didn't know you cared about so much, it's excruciating. You're still allowed to cry when you've broken a good thing up. When you lose someone important to you, especially when you lose them on purpose, it's usually because you told yourself you didn't care. And when you realize what you've just done, it hits you like a load of bricks. You're losing a good thing. You've lost a security. You've lost a hand to hold, a shoulder to lean on. You've lost the knowledge that you're cared about by someone you care about. It's a terrible, deep, inexplicable sense of lost. I know that feeling. You tell yourself it doesn't matter, that it will go away. But it doesn't. It lasts a long time and you can't just wipe away the residue. It sticks. Like duct tape. Or like a parasite you don't want, feeding off of your regret and sadness. You will be plagued with what ifs and you will wonder about couldhavebeens. You will hear a certain song, see a certain place, eat a certain food and suddenly want to cry.
It's a loss that time can only make worse for a while. That feeling. That feeling in your chest, that squeezing. That actually physical pain, and that taste in the back of your throat, that does fade after a time.
I'm sorry that this pain has to be yours to bear. And I'm sorry I can't take the burden from you. I wish I could.
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