Unsent Letter: 03

You asked me if I'm tired. I asked you what kind of tired. You said, "Of me." I told you no, I'm not. But this is what I didn't tell you:

I am not tired of you. But I am tired of constantly feeling like I can't reach you. I am tired of constantly battling for your attention. I am tired of trying to come up different ways and topics, of convincing you that you can tell me absolutely anything, just so we can have an actual conversation, and not just mindless, pointless ones. Like actually talk to me damn it! Talk to me about your feelings, your emotions, your life! Let me get to know you better.

I am tired of always putting in the effort, of always the one asking, of always the one waiting. I am tired of always the one feeling like I'm never enough. I am tired of always trying to guess what you're feeling, of what is in your mind, because you don't tell me anything unless I ask. And sometimes even when I do, you still avoid giving me an answer.

I am tired of feeling like I am the one who should do everything. I am tired of always the one appreciating. I am tired of being not the priority. I am tired of the mediocrity.

So yes, I am tired. And I am trying so hard to hold on because I don't want to get tired of loving you.

Unsent Letter: 02

I understand that I am not the first in your priorities. It stings, yes, but believe me, I understand completely. But please understand too that it will maybe take me a long time to accept that. No, don't blame yourself. There's no one to blame about my feelings, not even me. I know I shouldn't apologize about what I feel but I'll say sorry anyway.

I don't want to feel bad about being a second or third or fourth choice. I don't want to feel hurt about not being your top priority. But I do. I hurt. And the pain only grows everyday; I can't seem to stop it.

Maybe because all my life I've always stepped aside and put other people's interest over mine; inevitably shrinking myself behind the top choices. When I was a kid, I wanted so many things. But I didn't ask them from my parents because in my young mind, I am aware that they don't have the means to give them to me. So I kept quiet because I knew there were  important things that we need more than my own interests,

I've always been giving away too much; my time, my presence, my support, my patience. No one sees it maybe, but I've been constantly putting other people's feelings before mine. And although I have my share of selfishness, there weren't worth the memory. They weren't that lavish. I've always been simple.

My point is, maybe the reason why it hurts not being your top priority is because I've waited for someone like you for so long. Someone who will see pass my flaws, someone who will put me first for once, above everything else. And then I found you, and you love me as much as I do you. But the glitch is that I'm never going to be your first priority. And it sucks big time. It sucks because I shouldn't feel jealous but I am jealous. And I am mad, not at you, not at her, and not at myself either, but at fate. At destiny. Even sometimes, at God.

Why? Why do I always end up second? Why can't I be the first for once?

I am sorry I am doing this to you. I don't mean to put you in a spot where you feel like you're forced to choose. I am not making you choose. There is no choice. I just want you to understand me, and to tell you what I truly feel because you never ask. And I don't want that there will come a time where all of these will explode in the wrong way.

So I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

Unsent Letter: 01

It sickens me to read them all. My stomach drops with each letter I read.
I feel insecure. I feel like my heart is being ripped apart with every love you had shown her; with every similar words you have said to her, that you're saying to me too. And yet I continue scrolling down. I keep reading your posts to each other. I keep looking at photographs I wish doesn't exist because it makes everything real; because no matter how much I want to deny them, they serve as your memories. But I continue looking anyway, knowing full well that what I'm doing only gives me a self-inflicting pain. I never knew I'd become a masochist.

I wish I could delete them all. I wish I could delete her. But I can't go back to the past and undo everything. If I could, given the things that i know now, I'd  redo so many things. I'd never let you go that first moment we met. But I am no superwoman. I can't do that. So now, I am left with no other choice but to try and ignore these unwarranted insecurities I feel.

Still, I can't deny the fact that it's killing me. It's killing me how I absolutely know that I'm never going to be able to compete with what you two had. She gave you many firsts that you may again experience with me but I know it won't feel as amazing as what you felt with her. And the thought that you may be happy with me now but still it can't compete with the happiness you felt before makes me very sad. Almost depressed.

I won't be able to fill the hole she left in your heart...or will I? But...am I just that then? A filler? Someone you need to fill in that emptiness. Or am I greater than the love you felt for her?

What am I to you? What's my role? Who am I supposed to be when I'm with you? Because no matter how much I don't want to feel this, I feel like a replacement, and it sucks so much. So. fucking. much.