And I hated it.
I hated her for abandoning me.
I hated her for leaving me behind.
I hated her because it was the only good thing that had happened to me in my life.
I hated her for showing me the sky and then letting me fall, without anesthesia, without a parachute.
I hated her almost as much as I loved her as I still love her.
I hated her because before her there was nothing and to my disgrace after her, either.
I hated her because she had promised that we would always be together and she just left me
I hated her for leaving without looking back.
I hated her because I would never trust anyone again as I trusted her.
But the truth is that as much as I wanted to hate her I could not, for more reasons than I had to hate her in the end I always ended up loving her.
Loving her so much, in such a way that I understood the reasons she had to leave.
And I hurt, I hurt to see her face in them, to see her gestures in them, it hurts me to see the way I see her sleeping through them every night.
I understood that she couldn't bear to be next to someone who had so much to deal with.
Someone who came with a lot of luggage.
I understood that for her I was a bomb that had to get away before it exploded.
And I wanted to stop clinging, but even after not seeing her for a long time, I clung to her memory, to the hope of someday seeing her again.
To see her again, because I wanted her to stay, that she stayed for many years, not to say forever
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