I blocked your number. I deleted two years of messages between the two of us. It’s almost as if you never existed. There is no longer proof that what we had ever happened.
I wholeheartedly believe that you were my first love. I do not doubt it. I do not doubt that what I felt for you was accurate in every way possible. For years, I had waited for you to choose me. I had wished for you on every fallen eyelash, every penny in a fountain, every shooting star. I was so attached to this facade you created of yourself. You made yourself out to be the perfect guy. In reality, you’re everything but that. You used me. For years, you used me for self-validation. You used me as your defendant, your therapist, your plan B. Your muse. And I was exactly that. I was everything you wanted me to be, and you knew it. You knew I’d give anything for you, and you took advantage of that. You loved that you had me wrapped around your finger. You loved that you had control. I see who you are now. I know who you’ve been all along.
I’m done allowing you to hurt me.
Letting you go hurts more than anything, but I know this pain will be temporary. I know it will not be easy, and I know that it will take time.