At the beginning of our relationship, or whatever you like to call it, I refused to accept that you didn’t share my emotions. I loved you so much that my love for you blinded me and didn’t allow me to see straight. I wanted so badly for you to love me the way I loved you that I simply refused to accept the truth. And the truth has always been the same. You don’t love me, never have and never will. At least not in the way I love you.
And that is one of the most painful realizations of my life, even today. For a long time, I tried to run away from that fact, I tried to justify your behavior toward me and I kept finding excuses for your indifference. But with time, I had no other choice but to accept it. And I will never forget the day when I finally admitted this to myself. You didn’t do anything different, nothing out of the ordinary had happened. It was a regular day of me chasing you and you running away from me. It was a regular day of me trying to figure you out. You know, I’d been creating different scenarios in my head, trying to get myself to realize why you were doing some things you were doing. I was ready to accept every possibility besides the truth. And then it hit me—it was actually quite simple and there was nothing for me to figure out. You simply didn’t love me and you treated me accordingly but I just refused to see it. And when I realized this, I felt like the weight of the entire world had fallen on my shoulders.
When I come to think about it, you never tried to prove to me that you loved me. I was just imagining you did all along. Every time you treated me nice or when you were just kind to me, it was enough for me to think you loved me. Well, I guess it’s very easy to believe in something you want to believe in.
But I don’t think anymore that you love me. I’ve finally accepted this painful fact and I am slowly growing to learn to live with it.
I’ve also lost all hope that your feelings for me will ever change. I’ve stopped waiting for a miracle to happen and for you to start loving me the way I’ve always loved you.
I have to admit that at first I was mad at you for not loving me. Now I know that this was quite absurd. How could have I blamed you for not feeling something? You couldn’t force yourself to love me the same way I couldn’t force myself to stop loving you. Our feelings are not something we have control over and that is a very well-known fact.
I guess it was easier for me to be angry at you and to blame you for not loving me than to admit my defeat. I guess it was easier to think of you as this horrible, cruel man than to accept the fact that you actually weren’t that bad—you just couldn’t love me. And there was nothing I could do about it.
And we both know I did everything in my power to make you love me, as if that was something I could’ve impacted. We both know I loved you like no one has ever loved you, that I was always your shoulder to cry on, your biggest support and that you could always rely on me.
I guess that is what hurts me the most. I really did my best but even that wasn’t enough for you. And I know you appreciate everything I did for you. I know you respect me and you maybe even love me as a friend and as a person. But you could never see me as someone worthy of your romantic love.
But even though I’ve accepted the fact that you don’t love me, it doesn’t mean I understand it. Because I don’t and I never will. Some masochistic part of me would like to know what was so unlovable in me. How come you could never even think of loving me? Why was I never enough for you?
But I know that this is something I will never get an answer to. I know that you could never give me a valid explanation for this, the same way I can’t explain the love I feel for you.