I ruined you.

Open letter to the girl whose heart I broke.

And I’m so sorry. Not the half-assed sorry you mutter to somebody after accidentally bumping into them in the hallway. After all of these months and weeks, you occasionally cross my mind. But as I briefly think of you, the emotion that sweeps over me is overwhelmingly undecided. You’d think, after all this damage that I convince myself that I caused, that I would feel a little remorseful? Maybe a hint of guilt; responsibility? I will never know the true extent to which you idealized me as a wonderful person, a title I can hardly begin to claim. But what I do know is how little (and then some) that I was there for you.

Through my convuluted yet steadfast ego, my emotions are still unclear. Yet my intentions are about as pure as they’ll ever be. We’re both outside observers now. Well, at least you’ve joined me on the outside. And now I can look back and see the inside, truly grasping the hold that I had on you. I’m rambling now, as I tend to do when I can’t pinpoint what my mind fails to encapsulate. I doubt you’re reading this, and I doubt you ever will. But if I happen to ever cross your mind again, remember how resilient of a person you are. Don’t think of me, as I’m irrelevant in the scope of your life. This is about you.

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