The worst day in our relationship was not the day we broke up. It was also not the day I realized that we might not make it, nor the day I first felt like I was fighting you rather than a problem. No, the worst day was dropping you off at the airport to go abroad for one year. I have never felt my heart be as cruelly ripped apart: I did not know how to pass another day or minute, let alone an entire year. Had I known I was going to lose you within two months, I would never have let you go. Had I known this was the last time I would kiss you, I simply could not have done it. I would have been unable to walk away from you. Today, I would make myself turn around despite you telling me not to. I would send you off properly, like we deserved. Giving us closure before we knew we needed it.
I wish I was as in touch with my emotions then as I am now. Looking back, I see myself unavoidably running into a knife I left out for myself. But life does not work this way and it took me countless days and nights to heal and learn and be where I am today. Hindsight is bittersweet – part of me wants to go back and tell myself what I know now, part of me also knows I would not comprehend. Life does not let you skip pages just because you want to, so it has taken me almost three years to understand.
For me, the worst day was letting you go, sending us off into the definitiveness of the unknown. And I wish I could take it back.