I find 'opening up' a difficult concept.
I find comprehending the concept of men even more difficult. But I tried to place the two of them together, hoping that in this sacrifice, would eventually be happiness.
Oh, and it was wonderful. There's no sense of elation that compares to the way he made me feel for that first year and 5 months.

And then, it caught up with us. Just as I should have known it would.
But I didn't see it coming. Nothing could have prepared me for what he did; I was blinded. I like to think by love, but in truth, it was by naivety.
I invested my whole self in him. Every single part. Until we intertwined and weren't two separate people anymore.
He was my favourite part of me.

Until then. The unexpected break. The unexplained absence.
Followed by the confusion; the apologies; the desire of reconciliation. And when it was given to him, he gave it back. Oh God, that worst week when the truth came out in bits and pieces, as I saw them together. Heard all the things they'd said and done, and wished in those moments that we'd never met.

I want to say that it stops hurting.
I want to say that I forgave him and never thought of either of them ever again, but that's not the way life is.
He came back to me, and I took him...for the fifth time, perhaps, but I took him. And I love him more than even I can understand.

I would give anything to hit Rewind. To go back past all this shit, and press Pause at our favourite parts. I was a different person back then with him. I threw my insecurities out the window and, for the first time, let someone all the way in. He was my everything, and therein lies my mistake.

I don't know how I'm supposed to let this go.
And yet, I want to see him happy always. Even at my own expense.
So I'll hold my silence and I'll smile and pretend I'm okay, because that's what he wants. So what if it's killing me, as long as it's not hurting him.

I will forgive, but I will never forget.

I hate myself for letting it happen.
I hate myself for not being what he wanted.
I hate myself for not being able to walk away.
I hate myself for what he did.

I hate myself, but I don't see how that's fair.