Immortality, my darling

Someone said that if a writer falls in love with you, you can never die.

I have been in love with you for more than a decade. You were the person I prayed to my God for, you were the person I held on for, and you were the person I would have done everything for.

You were the person I talked about, the person I thought about, but most of all you were the person I wrote about.

I hate that I have made you immortal.

I hate that I have made you immortal because every word about you was a cut to my heart, and every cut was proof of how much you hurt me in ways that not even the people closest to me can even begin to comprehend.

And you can never begin to understand how traumatizing it was, getting hurt this way, because you can walk away from everything we were, but I couldn’t, because when you turned your back on me, it’s like every boy in every love story I have ever read has turned their backs on the girls they were in love with.

When you stopped loving me, it did not feel like we were over. It felt a hundredfold worse than that.

I felt how Hermione felt when Ron left. I felt what Katniss felt when she saw the brainwashed Peeta for the first time and she could not see the love in his eyes anymore. I felt how Catelyn Stark felt when Ned died.

I felt those horrible things, but what I didn’t feel was their strength when the people they loved have gone.

I felt so utterly hopeless, it was bordering on shameful. I was always told I had this great strength in me, but when you were gone, it’s as if all my strength disappeared with you. There were times when I just wanted things to be over and done with, because I was so tired of crying and writing about all the heartache over and over and over again.

But I knew I couldn’t give up, because there was a time when you did, and it destroyed me. I don’t want to destroy the people who loved me the same way you did.

So I wrote about you instead. I wrote about everything you were to me, about how much I loved you, about how much I still love you. I wrote about you in hopes that if I let everything out, I can keep you from destroying me.

Here I am. I’m left with pages and pages of letters and stories, of songs and poetry, and I realized that it was too late: I can never go back to who I was before you and I happened. You have destroyed that part of me, and I can never go back to that unscathed. I will have to wear my scars, but it’s going to be okay. Because they were the scars marked on the person who did not give up on love. They were the marks of the person who gave you so many chances, no matter how everyone else told her to walk away and let go. They were the scars marked in the words of the person who loved you so much more than you can even begin to imagine.

You have destroyed the happy part in me, and here I am, writing about you as always, making you immortal in my words and in my scars and it’s going to be okay.

I will eventually be okay.

I’m still going to write about you, because I’ve been in love with you for over a decade, but one day, I will stop and will start writing about someone else, instead. Hopefully, the next person won’t break me the way you did. Hopefully, he won’t throw away all the chances I gave him, the way you have. Hopefully, he will fight for me the way you never can, and hopefully, he will not let me go the way you turned your back on our epic story.

For now, everything about you and me has become permanent in the words I cannot any more say out loud. It’s immortality, my darling. And it hurt, but you and I will always be immortal.

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