this isnt a love letter

As much as I try to avoid writing about you, I find it impossible to resist. Please, don't flatter yourself. Writing is in my blood, and it's my way of processing my emotions. So, once again, this is about you.

You may never know this, but last week, I made a conscious decision to stop writing about the people I love, those who've left their marks, whether sweet or painful, on my life. I resolved to focus solely on you. I considered you my ultimate source of inspiration; there wouldn't be another muse. Even if there were, I wanted you to be the one I remembered forever, the muse I could speak highly of.

However, that plan fell apart in less than a week when you made it clear that you wanted no part of me. After all, what's an artist without their muse? So I erased everything – you, the past, the emotions that felt so real. Maybe they were, but you made it seem like it was all in my head, as it always had been. I deleted those words, as if they never existed, as if I never felt them, for you and everyone who came before you.

But this isn't the point of what I'm writing now. I've decided to write, endlessly, about you, anyone from my past, or anyone in the future. I won't stop pouring out my feelings until they dry up. That's a decision I've made on my own.

Whether it's about you or someone else, the emotions I experience in any given moment are as real as they can be.

So, with that said, here's to you.

Surprisingly, I don't hate you. Truth be told, I got over you rather quickly. Well, nothing compares to the pain of rejection from a company, but that's a story for another day. I was sad, I must admit. I experienced the usual heart-dropping, tear-inducing feelings that always accompany such moments. I couldn't be alone that night, and you reminded me that I have good friends. Thanks for that, by the way.

You also showed me how mature I've become when it comes to handling my emotions. No more impulsive decisions or foolish declarations of love for someone who clearly doesn't want me. Although it did take a night of knocking on my friend's door with bloodshot eyes, I consider it progress. I accepted what you told me; it was difficult, but I made peace with it. I don't hold any hatred for you.

Were your lies necessary? No, they never are. But that just revealed that you're not perfect; you never were. The idealized image of you in my head shattered instantly, and this time, I'm the one doing the breaking. The thought of being with you no longer occupies my mind – it never should have in the first place. I simply craved love.

This isn't a love letter or a letter of rage; it's just a blog entry.

– ✈️