The day you broke my heart was a day I saw coming. I always knew we loved each other, but I also always knew it would end. They say deep love is the best love, but in the real world it’s the worst. It was too deep to know, to compromise, to communicate, to recognize, to appreciate. Infatuation took over and there was no distinguishing between euphoria and reality. It was just a matter of time before the two became intertwined and caught us up in their evil web.
I saw this downfall the moment I agreed to be yours, that June day in my driveway, my head on your shoulder, my body in your arms. I knew. I learned to love you—deeply, oh so deeply. And you did the same. But over time, our happiness became misery. Each day was a struggle to remember why we were doing this. The love we felt in our souls was not the love we showed each other with our words, our bodies, our actions. The love was so deep we could not express it. Instead we expressed hatred and resentment.
And now that it is all said and done I will be honest— I still love you. I always will. No matter how many times you break my heart. No matter how many times you hurt me. But I will never be with you. I will never be happy with you. We will never be a family again. And I’m okay with that, even though I know it kills you to hear me say that. From now on I will love you from afar, which is what I should have done on that fateful June day.