I know I don’t talk for myself much anymore. I know that. I feel like I shouldn’t. I feel like I need to hear and see what and how other people are doing. Since you left, I’ve been a mess. Inside and out, I have been tearing and cracking and self destructing for a while now. It’s getting close to two years since the first day we got together, and close to one year without you and I am just going to tell you that this hurts. It seems like it almost hurts more now than when it first happened. You walked into my life two years ago, and you had a grenade in your hand. Your finger started out hooked onto the pin, and after awhile, you pulled it. But you didn’t let go. You waited until I was even more invested, until I was in so deep that I couldn’t see the sky anymore. Then you dropped it. I thought it was going to hurt you, so I caught it. I exploded into so, so many pieces. But I didn’t die. It’s as though I’m being stitched together piece by piece, like a jigsaw puzzle; and when someone puts two wrong puzzle pieces together, then tears it apart, I lose that part of me again. But somehow, I still don’t blame you. I don’t blame you. I loved you too much to hate you, too much to blame to blame you or hurt you. I loved you too much. No… I love you too much. Love. No ‘d’. Present tense. I still love you, even after all this time. Why do I still have to love you when all I want is to hate you with all I’ve got..? Why?