I lived a love story, that wasn't a love story, but was a love story. And it cannot be unwritten, although it's only half written, and that's what I don't like. I have this history now, that I feel is pretending to take the place of something real, but because of that, it actually took up that space. There was nothing there, but everything. No relationship, but a relationship. I lived, for a while, half as good as I could've. Faking it, but barely making it. Which led to taking it all from me. Something I asked for, but didn't know what I was asking for. Something I am not sure if I should regret.