I take all the blame for this.

I am the one who refused to let go of hope.

I am the one who clung to my delusional fantasies.

I am the one who refused to accept reality.

I am the one who kept letting him back in.

I am the one who couldn’t stop offering my heart.

I am the one who placed my love for him above my love for me.

I’m the one who chose to believe that someday, one day he would fall in love with me.

I’m the one who longs to relive how I felt in those indescribable and precious moments before I learned he didn’t want me.

I’m the one who obsessed over him.

I’m the one who couldn’t push him out of my head and out of my heart.

I’m the one who lost myself trying to convince him I was worthy.

I’m the one who didn’t care how much it was destroying me.

I’m the one who willingly suffered just for a moment near him.

I’m the one who kept inviting him back no matter how much it hurt me.

I’m the one who welcomed him in.

I’m the one who allowed him to stay.

I’m the one who begged for his love.

I’m the one who couldn’t accept rejection.

I’m the one who wept.

I’m the one who suffered.

I’m the one who broke my heart.

I’m the one who would do it all again, then again and again, knowing how it all ends, just to indulge in the illusion of ecstasy.

I’m the one who wouldn’t let him go.

He didn’t want any of this.

He didn’t want my love.

He never wanted me.

So don’t you dare blame him.

The only person to blame is me.