I've lost count of how many times I've written these words only to delete them all in a fit of 'it's not fair', 'he's a ****', or 'I can't be that selfish'.
I do know it is almost as many times as I have sat with my fingers poised above the keys, staring at a blank screen because it hurts too much to put it into words - to make it real.
These numbers combined just about add up to how many times I've gone over and over... and over in my head all the things I could have done differently, all the things I wish I'd said, all the things I wish I hadn't, and all the ways I could have been better... I could have been enough.
I tell myself you obviously you weren't right for me. I tell myself someday I'll be enough for someone and that I should move on.
I tell myself off for being so weak, for being so broken, for letting you have my heart when yours was already taken.
I tell myself I should hate you.
But I do this least of all because it actually hurts less to hate myself.
I've lost count of how many times I've gone to sleep holding my head and sobbing, crying out for someone to hold me and fill the void you've left.
And all the times I've spent the morning filled with joy and hope again just because you were in my dreams and that must mean something right?
There's no point even trying to count how many times I've longed for you to tell me I'm beautiful again or that you wish we'd met when you were single.
How many times I've smiled to myself while remembering the way you used to challenge me with so much more passion, stubbornness and respect than I ever thought anyone (but me) was capable of.
Or how many times I've smiled remembering the silly flirtatious games we played and the times you held me so close and tight it felt like you wouldn't be able to let me go even if you tried.
So many times I told you that all I cared about was your happiness, whether it was with her or me.
But I have to take all those times back because, I'm ashamed to say, the things that I do most of all are miss you and want you back.