Who were you to me?

Who were you to me?

​At first, someone in the crowd.

A little later, an annoying presence.

After a while, a stalker? (I avoided.)

​Time shifted, and events unfolded. When the world paused, I did too.

​I took time to observe and listen, without judgment.

I allowed myself to open up and bring forth my true self.

By expressing my worries that held me back.

By asking questions that I trusted you to have answers to... and you did answer them.

By sharing where I came from... To me, you were the hope of a beautiful bond of friendship, pure and simple.

​Time was on its pace, and so were we.

I thought of giving myself a chance where I could experience a little "more of me."

I shook hands with that promise of transparency, ease of being, and the honest conversations that led us to where we were.

​I completely overlooked the part of your individual journey while we were in one, together.

I trusted you with all of me, even when it was just friendship, or not even that.

​To me, you were a choice I made, to see the things as they unfolded and not read in between.

You were my rekindled faith that I had lost or never had the nerve to put out there.

​A bond like ours was something I was so proud of and loved sharing with my other friends.

This was something I had never experienced.

So, yes, our bond was something new to me in many ways.

​It was unexpected but carried a deep and unexplainable familiarity.

With you, I evolved as me.

I felt seen and heard beyond what I could have ever expected from anyone.

​I didn't realize how deep I fell for you, that I lost the very me.

Your words had woven a world around me, and I felt welcomed, not knowing you would also prove me wrong, with a shattered me and my own illusions of you.

​I not just thought about you, I breathed you. I dreamt of you. I cried for you, and I held you as my stubbornness.

But it wasn't me who wanted it, nor did I know this side of me.

​From a future I was made to envision, I was left in the void of now, all by myself to figure it out.

​Who were you to me?

I ask myself, again and again, feeling devastated but holding the ground I built on the pain that was left with me, one that I shed every day and night. Sometimes in journals, in words, or songs, or in isolation.

​And then I ask myself, "What was my fault? What did I miss in the hints thrown at me? What is it that still hurts so much that it's unbearable?"

​I thought I healed, but I find myself failing even more.

​Who were you to me?

Maybe someone who succeeded in labeling me as the one I dreaded the most.

One who made me question my worth and my being.

One who appeared to be someone so like me but turned out to be nothing like me.