I think the worst thing of all was that I never wrote about you. Ever.
Often you asked about this blog, yet never intruded and asked me to write about you, but I always felt like a liar. Because I could never summon myself to write about you. It didn’t feel true. It didn’t feel organic.
I never wrote in my scrapbook. In fact, there is a four-month gap missing.
And I wonder why. I wonder why that I never came home dancing around the room, dreaming of the night just passed. I wonder why I never hung on every word that you said. I wonder why I never shaped my dreams and future around some naive idea of you. I wonder why I never fully let myself go around you. I wonder why I never showed you the side of a woman who fearfully loves God.
Because, sometimes, I wake up and miss not having you there. I miss having someone to share life with. I miss having someone to hold and treasure and care. But, sometimes, I know that you were not the one. Perhaps I knew that from the very start. Because the very fact is, I never truly treasured you because you were never truly my treasure.
You were never mine to have, and I was never yours to hold.