It’s been a year since you last told me you loved me. A year since I’ve felt your warm embrace. A year since I’ve heard the soft timbre of your voice. A year since I’ve felt your smile against my lips in between kisses.

Who would believe that we, sorry I, would be writing this note. I was never one to journal but now it’s the only way to store our memories. A pen to paper or rather my keypad now knows your name, that’s how many times I’ve spelt it out. What was one more thing to bear the traces of your absence.

In the year, we’ve been apart I’ve tried to move on, you know told myself that I was over it and I could keep moving forward so why do thoughts of you still resurface? Why do thoughts of you still hold me back and I stare at your contact boring holes into my phone wanting to call you but then I remember why we broke up and I’m jousted back to reality.

Still I don’t hate you or rather I tried but I just couldn’t. I wanted so badly to hate you, to blame you and to be furious at you for what happened but I knew that wouldn’t be fair. We did what was best for the both of us but some days it doesn’t feel that way.

On days when I remember what fine conversations we had, the dreams we shared, the goals we set, the plans we made, I’m reminded that sometimes things don’t work out as planned. Things don’t fall into places like we hope they would.

I hope you’ve moved on because I am trying to. Perhaps in this universe we were only meant to cross paths.