Growing up, I looked up to you. You are my hero. I admire your hard work. I appreciate every little thing you do. I never thought… I never thought that it would change in just a day.

They say you can’t bring back words. It cuts deep. It will scar but it heals. Through time it will. But this kind of wound? Nah. It won’t. I swear, it won’t. It will forever bleed. Everytime I see you, everytime I remember the happy days with you, the banters, the sports talk, the “you’re not allowed to have a boyfriend yet” speech. Every freaking time I think of you, it will open up again. Fresh. Blood.

I don’t need your apology. I don’t want it. It’s all yours. I can’t forgive you, anyway. At least, not now.

Loving you hurts. Hating you feels the same. Hatred is not the opposite of love, it’s apathy. That’s the thing I need to feel right now. But disgust is the only thing I have for you.

I need to detach from these feelings. But I can’t. Not yet. You ruined her. You ruined us.

In those words, in that act, you lost my respect. There’s no turning back. This is the edge. I’m jumping off the ledge. You’re too late. It’s too late.

Suddenly she realized that what she was regretting was not the lost past but the lost future, not what had not been but what would never be.

— A Nice Quiet Place | Francis Scott Fitzgerald

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