I sometimes wonder what it would have been like if I never met you. If I didn't walk the streets without thinking about your hair, your clothes, and your eyes, because I wouldn't know them. I wouldn't know your scent. I wouldn't know your fingers or your hands. I wouldn't hear your voice or see your face even if we're estranged. I wouldn't know about it because we wouldn't know each other.
And I finally realize now that I don't care.
I don't regret you. Not in the slightest. I just regret that you thought that way about me. And that it ended so badly. Two different people in different phases of moving on. So yes, I had forgotten about needing you by the time you "broke it off". I had forgotten what it was like to have the longing, the stupid aching feeling in the chest. You hadn't become insignificant to me so much as I forgot how to love you, how to want to talk to you. I'm not sorry about it. I just regret that you couldn't acknowledge the inevitable. I wish you the best of luck, really. And I'm glad it's weird for you, because it's weird for me too.
I'm not the bad guy here, you know? Don't make me out to be that. It takes two to fall apart.
