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I don’t know if you’ll ever read this. Maybe you will, maybe you won’t. I hate that I still think about you all the time. I hate that I am reminded of you constantly. I find myself missing those moments, first thing in the morning, where we’d just cuddle in the warmth of the new day. Those moments where you’d playfully tease me and we’d both share a laugh. I miss the way I used to get texts out of the blue and you’d tell me how much you loved me. The nicknames we had for each other, the way our bodies intertwined, feeling absolutely 100% content and knowing we belonged together. I fucking hate that I miss it all. It’s even worse that for some god damned reason, my mind won’t let go of those memories. 

You’ll always have a part of me, and I feel like I’ll always have a part of you, because for those few years, I know what we had was real. It was one of the most real things I’ve experienced in my entire life. 

We were too young to be so in love with each other. I’ve come to realise that’s probably the main reason we never worked out. And now it seems all that remains is bitter hatred. 

I never got over the feeling that if you had really loved me, you wouldn’t have let me go. You never got over the idea that someone else other than yourself could have made me happy. 

Merry Christmas J

kalories:

at least when you are hanging out with yourself, you get to pick the music.

(Source: kiedisking, via chicgarden)