You don’t destroy the person you love. What you did to me, wasn’t love. Love is knowing their freckles and reading their favourite books because it meant something to them and you want to understand what it was. Loving someone is finding traces of them everywhere even if they weren’t planted. You will always be the brightest star now. You will always be Vegas skies and country roads and family guy and sleeping with the windows open and this stupid tattoo on my arm and bosco sticks with Capri Sun and camel menthol silvers and talking in your sleep and lazy Monday mornings and you will always be who I reach for in the middle of the nite. Love is opening up and looking in and accepting and understanding. Love is not walking out on your sobbing, terrified girlfriend and love is not alterior motives and love is not rejection and fear and stubbornness. I loved you. I traced your hips and kissed your shoulders while you slept and I read things you could relate to in order to understand and I saw you in every piece of my day. I was crazy, passionate, in love with you. And I was the 3 year span you wanted to be with someone else.