For a long time, I was convincing myself you loved me and even if you didn’t, that you eventually would. And God knows how much I fought for your love. There was nothing I wouldn’t do to make you love me. But nothing was enough. You don’t love me, never did and never will.
At least, not the way I would like you to love me.
I am not saying you were always completely indifferent towards me and maybe you even loved me in your own way, but the fact is that you never loved me for real. I know you tried very hard to love me, but you could never make yourself do that. And that is a fact I have to deal with and something I have to learn to live with, the same way I have to learn to live without you.
This is something I am slowly growing to accept. And something I don’t blame you for anymore.
At first, when I realized this, I have to say I was pissed. I was doing even the impossible to make you happy, but I saw that you were never truly satisfied. I considered you to be ungrateful and I thought you didn’t appreciate all my efforts. But then it hit me-you couldn’t be happy by my side no matter how much both of us tried to make it happen. It was impossible because you never loved me with the same intensity I loved you.
Then, I became frustrated at you for not loving me back. Or at least, I thought I was. But later I’ve figured out that I was actually sad and devastated because of this and I was only masking my sadness with anger. It was easier for me to keep finding your flaws and to accuse you of being heartless than to simply accept the fact that you didn’t love me. And to accept that there is not much philosophy about it and most of all, that there was and that there will never be anything I can do about it. I’ve finally come to terms with that.
But there is something I will never be able to accept. And that is the fact that there will come a woman who you’ll love. I hate to admit this, but it would be a lot easier for me to accept the fact that you don’t know how to love. But that is far from the truth. I know that you are a great guy who is very capable of loving. You just couldn’t love me. I know you were never truly happy by my side and that is why I let you go.
And I know there will come a woman you’ll make happy. There will come a woman you’ll love the way I loved you and the way you could never love me. I also know I have no right to be jealous. Even when we were together, you were never truly mine and I always knew that. But my jealousy is stronger than me. It haunts and consumes me. Maybe I am the only bad guy here, after all. I should want you to be happy even if that happiness doesn’t include me, but honestly, I can’t wish that for you. I might be selfish, but I truly envy the woman who will love you after me.
I envy her because she’ll have you in all the ways I never had you. I envy her because she will see all your weaknesses and vulnerabilities. She will get to know you in all the ways I didn’t. And I know she will be special. But most of all—she will make you happier than I ever did. And that is what I’m mostly jealous of.
I am jealous of all the nights she’ll fall asleep in your arms and of all the mornings she’ll wake up next to you. I am jealous of every time you’ll kiss her with the love you never kissed me with. I am jealous of all of your conversations, of all the times she will tell you she loves you and all the times you will tell it back to her. I am jealous of the children she will give to you and of the fact that you two will grow old together.
I will always wonder what it was that I didn’t have that she will have. What is it that you’ll love in her that you could never find in me? How come I could never make you happy?
But I guess those are all questions I’ll never get the answer to.