When you left me, I thought I was going to die. No. That's not right. I thought I knew I was going to die. I even tried to make it happen, you know.
There was a lot of pain. Pain and sadness. You disappeared. Where had you gone? Would you come back? Why did you go? Was it me? Did I do something wrong? Or did you think it was "for the best"?

For so long it was just that. Pain, trying to forget the pain, coming across that t-shirt you gave me, hearing a song you recommended to me, then more pain.
I nearly managed to forget, some days. I managed to pretend I wasn't missing half of me. Everyone around me was without a clue as to what was wrong. I hid it so well. I always was a little melancholy, they didn't notice.

That was, until the panic attacks. The irrational fear. The fear that I would never see you again, the fear that someone would see the cracks in my mask, the fear that I would see you again and you would cast me down. People noticed then.
It took months for the person I live with to noticed that no, something really wasn't right. Then when she tried to help, she just made it worse... of course. She thought she knew what was best. It was base cruelty but she thought otherwise. I ignored her after a while.

Eventually I started to accept that I wouldn't see you again. That was o.k. I still loved you so very much but it was o.k, because you must be happy. I knew you must be better off without me, it must have been why you left.
I still wasn't over you. I would never be over you but it was fine not to move on, it is human nature after all. Humans never really move on from anything. It's always there in our hearts and in our heads.

Then I found you. That was pain. You were just.. there. You were fine. How dare you be fine when I had suffered for so long? The anger and hurt rose in me like the unstoppable rage of a volcano.
That's when I heard your answer. "I thought you didn't care.". It was all swept away with those 5 words. You thought I didn't care. I felt empty. I realised how selfish I had been: my pain, my suffering.

Isn't it strange how it works? You thought I was fine. I thought you were fine. For more than a year we both ignored that the other might be hurting. We concentrated on how we, ourselves, felt.
You told me about how you had wanted to die. You told me about how you just wanted to curl up and cry every day. You told me how you hated everything. I couldn't really blame you for going.

And now you're back in my life. Things aren't perfect. They're as good as they can be. We're both a little lonely. A little desperate. You want me to move in with you, though we're not together. We want to make each other happy.
But I still have the fear. What if you leave again? What if I do something wrong? Will it take something small and insignificant to make you think the pain isn't worth it? What will I do if I lose you again?

I think I'd die.