That first night after you ended it I went home and cried for over three hours, left half-baked cookies in a still burning over for one hour, and slept for fifteen more. I had hoped that sleep would stave off the pain, but it was not sound. Every hour on the hour I rose fitfully from my bed, puffy-eyed, hands on damp pillows whispering your name. When I finally woke that morning I had twelve whole seconds of reverie before thoughts and memories came rushing back and the process started all over. Imagine if it had ended on unhappy terms. In some ways I wish it had. I would much rather be screaming in anger than dehydrated from crying. Maybe then I wouldn't feel so betrayed. So confused at the sentence "I will always love you". I think to myself, how could you love me but not need to be with me as often as you could? How could you love me but even bear to think of a world that didn't end with us as a factor? That's the part that gets me. I do not understand your love. Mine is obvious and out there and everlasting. Yours is fleeting phrases and words on paper. I do not understand how you could walk right past me without a glance, stand to breathe the same air as me and not gravitate towards me as I do you. I will not share my tears with you as I know they are selfish ones. It is not fair of me to ask of you what you cannot give. I say I understand but I do not. I cannot. Our love is not the same. Even saying these words I release rivulets of emotion down my face. The hardest part is how I must sit back in complacency and say how this is okay for me. How in my head I say "Though we have parted ways I hope to come upon a day where we are both comfortable with our own minds to open our hearts again" but in my heart all I feel is "Why can't you love me anymore?" I feel so alone.