Wed, 10 Dec 2008 06:29:23 GMT

Lifted off a private journal:

This is a letter to you, G. You will probably never, ever get to read this but I have to write it anyway.

Let me tell you this. I don't think I can ever find someone else to love as much as I loved you. I have tried, time and again, to move on but try as I may, I can't do it. There are things in this house and this neighbourhood that reminds me of you. The night when we met up for dinner with your new boyfriend by your side, I couldn't help feeling a tinge of jealousy when you had him close in your arms. It felt like as though my heart had been taken out of its place, laid on the ground and smashed into smithereens.

Don't get me wrong, please. I'm happy for you. I really, truly am. But it's only human to feel jealous, right? Or is that just another excuse I'm coming up to make me feel sorry for myself? I do miss you in so many ways, but what right do I have to feel this way when I was the one who had commitment issues and who wanted my single life back and the friendship we both had before love came into the picture?

So what right is it do I have to feel this way? Nothing at all.

The last thing I ever want right now is to leave bits and pieces of me in a past relationship. I want to start dating again some day and when that time comes, I don't want to be comparing that relationship to the one we had.

I know we promised to be friends and I want it to stay that way, but it's getting harder and harder these days. So I'm doing what I know best, G. That is, to do things to make you hate me in ways unthinkable. I know it's going to hurt me a whole lot but it's the only thing I know best and to move on.

I'm sorry, G. I really am.

I wish you well and I wish you love.

Take care, G.

Bummer, ey?

The secret lie.