< love> You < /love>

The worst part about our situation is all of those awesome things that happened before we died. You used to say all these little things to me that made me smile and feel that fabled warm fuzzy feeling in my gut and all the butterflies would rush up my throat and bring a redness to my face. I don't know how much of that you knew. Most of the time, the sweet things you said were digital.

I <3 you. You're worth all the text messages in the world. Tell him I'll pay him to kill you. It's understandable, really, considering we weren't together for almost half of our relationship, but it's still a notable thought. And you know what the worst part, out of everything that ever happened and everything you said to me and I said to you? You told me those things were lies. Those little things I was living every day to hear from your lips or precede the enter button on your keyboard, they were lies. And yeah, later you told me that a lot of the things we had both said we hadn't meant, and it wasn't really as heartwrenching a blow as it must have felt, but it still felt. It still feels. I think the, "I never really loved you," part of it would have stung a lot less if you hadn't made it feel like you had before you said it. When you whole world whips around on you like that it's bound to leave some cracks around the middle. Do you know how I know that this was the worst of it all? It's the only thing I still cry about. I can recall the words you used when you severed romantic ties, I can remember the heartbreak I felt in the week before when I knew what was coming and didn't know how to stop it, I can remember the emptiness I felt when my question of <3? at the end of a conversation went unanswered. Of all of that, of everything, it hurt the most to know that you were there, all the time trying to make me feel the wonderful way you made me feel, and all the time knowing somewhere inside you that you didn't mean any of it.

I would have never done that to you.

And I know somehow that you didn't mean to do it to me, but, knowing and allowing myself to feel closure over the fact are two very different things.

It's okay though. The crying usually doesn't last long, and more times than not happens while I'm in the shower. A convenient way to hide it from everyone else in the entire world. It makes me wonder sometimes if I'm the type to take hits like that and crawl back, or if it's just you that makes me that way. Despite all the hurt and all the heartbreak and all of the everything, I still want you. I still love you. I still get that butterfly feeling when you say anything that might half-consciously suggest that you care about me at all. So what if I still cry about you? Doesn't the rest of that make it a mute point? Despite everything, you're still the moonlight in the night and the sunshine in the day. Sometimes I forget you're there to think about, sometimes I curse you for being too bright or not being bright enough, sometimes I wonder if you ever think about me. But if you ever left me completely, well. What a cold, dark unfriendly world I'd be, wouldn't I?

I worry sometimes because I know you read this, and I'm not always sure it's meant for you to read. I guess, it doesn't really matter. You're the only person I feel comfortable being such an open, pathetic book to. Maybe I'm just better at being honest when I'm writing things digitally.

Let me just find that enter key. There it is.