I remember how I came back after those four days. I was a different person. So much happier, so much more confident, so much more myself. To be honest, I thought that feeling would never go away. It was as deeply rooted in me as my love for you. But somehow, in losing you, I also lost myself. I thought it was supposed to be the other way around.

When I have one of those weak moments – thinking whether I should let you know I’m still alive – I check your Instagram or scroll through your pictures on Facebook. We live in an age when missing someone becomes an obsession. And you are mine. But I can’t possibly take you seriously – your meditation, your journaling… It all seems so fake, as if you want to be inspirational. But if I go back to August, I remember that you were.

Without you, loving myself is harder. Because even though I have read Huffington Post’s articles about how you should love yourself no matter what, I keep wanting to have you to reassure me that it’s the right thing to do. I have one of your quotes written in capital letters in my diary: “Never change. You are amazing.” And it doesn’t mean that much, but you were the first person to ever tell me that (besides my parents, and aren’t they supposed to do that)?

You told me that I would remember the songs we listened to. Sometimes I cry when I hear I Will Wait by Mumford and Sons. But lately, I started wondering who I’m crying for –  you or me. You also said that only I could make myself happy. But the things you said always made me feel better. But maybe it was not you. Maybe it was the loving and being loved.


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