I remember when I loved you. Everything was easier then. Nothing you said was hurtful, and your actions were always thoughtful. You made me feel butterflies, and tingles, and warmth. We spent time just talking to each other, about everything, and nothing. You wanted to know what secrets my mind held, the places my thoughts had traveled to. You wanted to take care of me, and know me, and love me too.

I remember when you loved me. When everything I did was good enough, and nothing made you angry. When my answers were lullabies that could always soothe your troubled mind. You missed me when I wasn't with you, and you counted the minutes until we would be together again.

I remember when you loved me. Before you started prying into my brain. Before my answers to your questions were never correct. You never wanted to hurt me, when you loved me. You could never have imagined wanting to spend time with anyone else.

I remember when I loved you. Before I spent long, lonely nights, trying to convince myself that I was good enough for you. Before your words turned hateful, and your comments posed to wound.

I wonder when it happened? That thing that changed between us. Was it gradual, sneaking up on us like time? Or was in instant? Did it crash into us, making itself known in the most dramatic way? I suppose for me, it was instant. The instant I discovered that you were talking to her. And again, the instant I begged you to stop, tears streaming down my face. Something changed then.

But then again, it was gradual. The next year where we tried to ignore what had happened. When we didn't discuss it, but always felt it, until it happened again. The slow burn inside of me, consuming the girl who wasn't good enough for you. And from that girl, a new one emerged. Someone stronger, braver, and less willing to accept the pain that you forced upon me. A girl that was good enough, in fact, MORE than enough, for him.

It wasn't intentional, you know. I wasn't looking for something, or trying to fill some sort of void in my heart. Instead, I stumbled upon this person, this man who had been hurt the same way that I had. And from that pain, something started to grow. An appreciation for each other, and more than that, a respect for our struggles and needs.

This turned into the best kind of friendship, one that was not based on expectations. The only thing that we need from each other, is honesty and understanding. He makes me laugh, the way that you used to. He doesn't try to fit me into a box that only perfect girls belong in. A box that I had been trying to force myself into for the last few years. Instead of making me feel guilty for my mistakes, he helps me to see the good that came from them.

He helps me to see the girl who I have been all along. And for this I am grateful. But he is not the focus of this letter; I am. I am finally starting to see what other people see. That I am strong, and smart, and funny. And I am worth so much more than the lies and selfish affection that you throw my way.

I remember when I loved you. And part of me still does. But that part of me is small and fragile and broken. That part of me shrinks in response to your harsh words and comments. It whimpers and believes you when you say that I am not good enough, or worthy of love. But that part of me grows smaller every day, and soon, you will remember when I loved you and wish you could change how things worked out. But it's already too late. Because I'm already gone.