Write him off.

619 days.

Everyone who told me distance is nothing if you truly love someone was wrong. Distance is everything. Distance is the shrapnel embedded in my heart. Distance is what makes you a stranger to me. Three hundred miles is just too much. Maybe things would have worked out better if you’d actually kept your promise and called me every day, but we haven’t spoken since your birthday. You’re feeling guilty and I’m aware of that, but it doesn’t matter if you don’t act upon it. You can’t just text me a picture of a paper heart in a store window and think that makes up for your not calling, because it doesn’t.

Don’t you see that this can’t ever be as beautiful as it once was? All we have now is a cycle: together and happy, apart and miserable, together and happy, apart and miserable. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to live like this anymore.

You still feel like home to me. What if that never changes? What if we’re meant for each other? I don’t believe in soulmates but I believe in love. And love with you is the only romantic love I can conceptualize right now, so it’s the only love I believe in. I want to go back and live our 619 days all over again. The good and the bad and the ugliest of the ugly. But I can’t, and neither can you. So this is what we do. We just keep going. Whatever happens is going to happen, and there’s no way to know right now what will. I’m tired of trying to figure out where to put you in my life, or if I should just cast you out entirely. I’m sick of having so much to say to you when I know I won’t ever tell you the majority of my thoughts. I want you to stop existing. I want you to stay with me forever.

Submitted by Anonymous.

(Photo by Bella)