Isn't it interesting the different levels of love we experience in a lifetime? Different shades of love, different intensities, different meanings.
Twenty-six weeks. It seems miniscule, in the grand scheme of things. Far too short a time to fall in love, or what was construed as love, and to say those damning words out loud and think they meant something. Far too short a time to share deep moments and dark secrets and big dreams and tough realities. And all you could do was nod and say, "Hm."
Maybe if I just stuck it out a bit longer, maybe if I had kept on being upbeat and cheery, maybe if I had been better at playing the part of the good, supporting girlfriend, maybe then I would have felt the weight of the words, "I love you." You said them first. Maybe you felt pressured into saying it. Maybe you thought it was what I wanted to hear. Maybe you meant it. Maybe you meant it.
I can just be your friend. If I'm just your friend, maybe you'll treat me better. Maybe you'll care for the messy parts of my past self. Maybe you'll put my needs before your own. That's what friends do, right? What changes from being your girlfriend to being your friend?
I don't want to be your friend. I gave you so much of myself. Time, money, thought, care, love, intimacy, secrets, dreams. You took so much of me. I wanted to be valued for more than my body. You pulled me out of my self-destructing cycle and let me rest. You gave me safety for awhile. I needed you for that. But that was all you were good for. You helped me see my worth. And I was worth more than the hurt I was putting myself through to love you. I am worth more.