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Writing here instead of sending to ex

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Stopping myself from writing to my ex.


I don't know what to do. I have been in turmoil since those emails. Why bother emailing me. Would it not be easier to just not bother? Hell that's what I thought you had done originally.


I am still so mad. Yeah it's great you take back everything. But now I'm left realising you left for **** all. Except that you don't know what you want and you let things bubble up etc and whatever other reason.. You sent that "bad email" when I called you up on the fact this happened after weddings. And I know fine well that was the catalyst the first time. ***** got married and you freaked and started picking things apart about me. About us.

Want to know all there was to know?

Yes. We were not the perfect couple. Who is?

I would have my funks. But I knew I could always talk to you. You were selfish. I didn't ask much. And whilst it would have been nice for you to do as much as I did for you, I know you did it other ways.

I loved you. Unconditionally. I didn't care about the things you got so paranoid about. Your hair, height, glasses, whether you had money etc I didn't care. I loved everything. The silent times on the couch? Because I was comfortable. We could talk about everything (I thought) and nothing but we could have those moments when we could sit and do nothing. I loved little moments playing on the couch. Cuddling. Kissing. Other stuff. Watching you play videogames or doodling while you read or worked out guitar stuff.

I could never sleep alone. I still can't very well.

Talking everyday. Whether through whatsapp, in person etc. You I trusted so much. Your opinion I valued. Coming to yours was a highlight for me. Though we didn't live together like you suggested I always felt like I was coming home.

I loved your friends and family as my own.

I loved our days out. Our lazy Sunday's in. Getting dressed up for dinner thinking you looked so handsome and that I felt beautiful.

This is only a small fraction of it.


Everything. Big and small I loved.


All I ever wanted was that. To get our place one day with the workshops. To be happy and loved.


And you threw that away. I still don't understand how one falls out of love. After all that time. I still haven't. Which is why this is still so ****ing hard. That while I still love you after everything you done, you fell out of love a long time ago. I feel sick thinking that you've probably already slept with someone else. That I am just the pathetic woman left behind. Torn about everything.

And you want a friendship with "no emotional baggage?"


Do you know how that sounds? And yes. You did admit it in the last email that you realised you sounded selfish.

I'm sick of words. I am sick of being the one in pain all the time, wondering why the hell I wasn't good enough. Why you bubbled **** up whenever you took these notions. I am sick of being the one that fought for EVERYTHING.

I am sick of being afraid that whatever I write will either mean you won't talk to me again (because "you think it's best") or will make me think we could ever be friends. Causing me more pain.


It's sad as well. I sometimes wondered if you would ever apologise. I imagined you turning up in Preston to talk in person. That you would make the effort and do the fighting for once. But that is a foolish lovesick girls thinking.


But that's what I have to deal with. Because I wasn't the one that fell out of love.

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