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Dear diary,

I really don't want to be writing about this. It makes me sad. I don't want to write about this or talk about it and yet I have to because it is tearing my life apart.

It's been over a year since we broke up. And I still get sad and upset about him. When does it stop? When will I finally shake this attachment to him? This longing for him?

And yet I hate him. I hate him with every bone in my body. I hate him when the sun comes up and when it goes back down. I hate him when I am looking at the moon, wondering why I could not also have been born as something whose beauty people marvel at. I hate him at breakfast when I drink grape juice and look through my phone; I hate him when I get into my cold bed and feel the emptiness beside me.

And yet I love him. I love him as much as I did the day I met him. The way I love everyone in my life whom I've deemed worthy of it. And I must be imperfect because you fell so short of my expectations. I still care. I hope you the best. I just wish you'd stop hurting me. I wish you'd pause for a second and remember how much you cared about me once. At least I hope you felt that way once. I know I did. How could you do that to someone you once cared about?

Once I cared about me, too. Then I fell in love with you.

I lost myself in loving you too much you could not handle its passion. I lost myself in the suffering of teaching you to be a man as you clung to your youth and naivete. I lost myself in the person you could be, mindfully absent as the person you are slashed across my paper-thin skin. I let you past my walls and wreaked havoc from the inside out. There was no point to all this armor, I handed you my heart myself.