22 Gut-Wrenching Things That I Would Finally Tell You If I Were Given The Chance



I tried to publish many articles and poems about love before I met you; none of them got published because I didn’t know what it was until you came into my life. Now, they want every article because you are amongst the lines.


I’m mad at whatever brought us together because it also decided to keep us apart.


How were you going to propose to me?


I’ve forgotten what it’s like to kiss you, and that sometimes makes everything seem gray. We made color.


I remember exactly what you and I were wearing the last time I saw you; I didn’t think it was going to be the last time.


I wish I ran after you when you walked through the airport doors. I remember thinking that I hadn’t hugged you long enough, it hadn’t been enough at all.


I kept denying that you loved me because we couldn’t make it work, and that made it easier for me. I know you really did love me.


If I could have given you anything, it would have been a day in my life, only so you’d never forget how magnificent you really are and how magnificent you’ll always remain.


We would have been a funny, old couple if we had grown old together; we would have been able to count our dull moments on one hand.


You made my heart ache in the best way. You still do, and I think you still will for a long time.


You held my hand so much that sometimes when I’m sitting in my car or walking down the street I am able to pretend that you’re next to me doing that exact same thing.


One of the last things I said to you was that I knew you would do great things, and I’m sorry I can’t be there to see any of them.


I believed in us. I wish you had too.


Things would have been different if we had met five years later than we actually did; but I’m glad that holding your hand awkwardly while leaning against a refrigerator at that house party led to this. It will be a funny story one day.


Sometimes, right when I wake up, my clouded mind imagines that you’re cooking eggs for me in the kitchen.


I put all your things that you left and the gifts your mother gave me in a box that now sits at the very back of my closet; giving it away feels like I am giving you away, and I’m going to pretend like I don’t need to for a little while longer.


I wonder what it would have been like if distance had never been a factor. Would we have made it? Would we still have been defeated?


I wish you knew what you wanted, even if it wasn’t me. At the pace we were running, the world was too blurry for clarity.


Do you also tell yourself that we’ll never get over each other?


Doubts are usually wrong for many aspects of our lives, but sometimes they aren’t. I wish you didn’t have to listen to yours.


I’ve been making plans for the future without you in them, and I don’t know how but it tastes like freedom and poison mixed together.


We will forget each other. The brain is wired to work this way. Apparently, we are better off this way. I will tell myself that lie until it becomes true.