I miss him. And for every second that we are apart I miss him more. The numbing ache in my chest never leaves, maybe it has become tolerable and sometimes I can pretend it is not there, but it is – ever present and ever growing. It incapacitates me, the degree to which my miss transcends to love emanating from every beat of my heart. I miss the selfishness that is only there when I am with him, the protectiveness, the shyness… somehow I become a person worthy and capable of love. He never really did understand why I cannot tell him those three words he longs to hear. I mask my reluctance by feigning, being repulsed by the idea just because. But what it was, really, is selfishness. I wanted him, and only him, to hear me say those words because they are most difficult. I feel naked whenever I say those words and I hate being that. Vulnerability is a feat I learned how to overcome and I am afraid to be hurt by the person I love the most. But our love is gone and only heartache remains. Look at me, almost a year has passed and I am acting like he broke my heart yesterday; to my defence, it feels like it. But I guess it is time to put the bits and pieces of my shattered self back together and start anew because I only have myself to blame for both of our broken hearts. Somehow, I have to put me back together the semblance of a perfectly normal almost-woman which only has one flaw, a gaping hole in her heart.