Nine and a half years. That’s how long we made it. I never thought I would fall in love at 17, and when I did, I never thought I would leave at 28.

You never hurt me. You never cheated. You never gave me reason to doubt you.

So why did I always feel like I had to be so possessive? Why was I always so self concious? I think it’s just me. It hasn’t changed since I left you.

I left because I had missed out on all the things a normal young adult goes through. I never had to get my own apartment. I never had to fix my own car. I never got the chance to know how I’d react to someone trying to take me home from the bar, regardless of if I feel like I would ever allow that or not. Point is, I needed to know what it was like if I could.

You never held me back. You always encouraged me. Even when I left bits of paint and feathers and fabric all over the floor. You just let it happen.

I can’t do anything without thinking about you. I can’t talk to a guy, or think about dating him, without thinking of you. I can’t walk through a store without thinking, “Ooh he’d love that!” And I cannot stand knowing you’ve been with someone else since I left. Have I? Yeah. Double standard I guess. I’m not mad, we’re both adults and we are going to do what we want. Trouble is, when you told me, my heart sank and I wanted to throw up.

I don’t want to move home. Not yet. And I don’t want to be with you again unless I know that I want YOU, not the almost ten years of memories.

I want to cut you out. But I don’t want you gone. I can’t have my cake and eat it too.

Why can’t you be an asshole so this doesn’t hurt so bad?