She meant more to me than I think she ever knew.

Or maybe she did know but was too scared to imagine somebody actually caring about her, the way she only dared dream to be cared for.

I held her hand like it was trying to escape from her body but yet I held her ever closer.

Deep down I always knew, that no matter how hard I tried to be perfect for her, her eyes would never perceive me to be anything more than average and yet I still fought for her affection as though I was a soldier, fighting for a country I could never win back.

I always felt sorry for something I had done but never knew what it was that I could of possibly done so wrong.

And now all these thoughts have spiralled into mute points.

No longer living in my mind and on the tip of my tongue, but instead buried deep with the remains of what little love I held for us.