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To my heart:

Yes, you. Not the muscle barely beating in my chest. It's for you, the one who I gave that precious commodity to, the one who repeatedly ripped it out, stomped on it and set it on fire. 

To you, the one who will never read this, and that's okay because I suppose this is also for my actual heart; the one that's in pieces, because really, you are one and the same. 

I knew who you were. I knew from the very beginning. One of the byproducts of severe trauma is a keen eye for detail and I have had no shortage of that in my life. I still don't know why I didn't listen to myself; I don't know why I chose to ignore everything my subconscious was screaming at me, I don't think I'll ever know. The funny thing is, if I went back to the beginning knowing what I know now, how you would eventually, ruthlessly, tell me you never loved me, I would still dismiss it all for you. 

I should be angry; at times I suppose I am, but not at you. I'm angry at myself for letting you use me, for giving all that I am to you knowing the whole time you didn't feel the same; but hope springs eternal (at least it did.)

Mostly though it's sorrow I feel. Mourning the loss of a love that never really was; for you. But was so damned real to me. It hurts because despite it all I still love you. From the depths of my soul, with every cell in my body. I will never stop loving you, and if that makes me look like a fool as you put it, so be it. If this mess has taught me one thing, it's that my heart is pure, and that as shattered as it is, it can still love. No matter what life has thrown it's way, it hasn't hardened, it doesn't feel the need to break others to protect itself. That is the epitome of grace. 

I will hurt for a long time. I have to be okay with it. It's okay that I still love you, I had to walk away because you wouldn't. Sometimes you have to do things even if they break you, and break me it did.

But I've been broken before yet I've always been okay. Eventually I will be okay. I'll never be the same person I was before you, but that's part of life. I'll continue to ponder the lesson I'm supposed to learn from all of this;  there is always a lesson.

 Until I heal, I have to keep telling my heart that it is loved. Yes, you... The muscle barely beating in my chest, the one that was repeatedly ripped out, stomped on and set on fire. I love you. But perhaps I also love the one whom I gave you to. After all, you are one and the same.
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