“Have you ever been in love?” someone asked me the other day.
Out of sheer habit, I almost blurted the word yes.

6 months it has been.

I saw you with your new girlfriend for the first time the other night.

I had been dreading it.
I knew I was eventually going to see you with someone else and I thought I’d die if I did-
but I didn’t.
If anything, I felt peace.
Peace that I no longer have to live with the angst and fear of you coming back.
Peace that my biggest fear had finally come and I didn’t even quiver.
It didn’t break my heart.
You don’t matter enough to do that anymore.

Back to the question.

I haven’t been in love,” I answered.

I may have poured my soul to you but
I refuse to believe that it was love.
Love is the most beautiful feeling,
It’s supposed to mend you
Not break you.
It’s supposed to make you whole
Not destroy you, and everything you thought you knew.
It was anything but love.
But whatever it was, you clearly didn’t deserve any of it.
I didn’t love you.
I was just in love with the idea of love.
I was living in a constant delusion that
Only you
Could keep me happy.
I’ve realized that that power lies only within me.
You gave me panic attacks, insomnia, put me through hell
And I happily called it love.
You think you broke my heart?
You broke me as a person.
Even months after your iniquity,
I was still trying to see the good in you.
But my tears have dried, my eyes have cleared.
Now that I think about it,
I don’t think I know what love feels like
But one thing I do know
If he makes you feel like you’re unworthy of love, even after all your goodness and kindness and forgiveness,
Then it isn’t love.
It never was.