Yet, I think I took it for granted. Or maybe, I detached myself before I could get hurt. Or maybe both.

Back then, I never really learned how to live far away from the place I called home.
In fact, I barely understood my own circumstances,
because I never really paused to think about them.

I remember keeping myself busy.
Making new friends, pursuing ambitions, crying in silence.

I didn’t realize how hard it was.
I was just living. Surviving.

He was my one and only.
And before I knew it, I became overly dependent.

From loving to spend more time,
to clinging so tightly that I needed him around all the time.
From giving my inner world,
to becoming overly sensitive to even the smallest shift.

I held onto my own version of him,
and refused to let it go.

Until we both grew tired of each other.

I kept searching for external validation,
for protection, for constant adoration.

And that made him feel like he no longer mattered.

And it made me feel like I was no longer worthy.

That was the first time,
I turned my sunshine into my first nightmare.