I sit here with a broken heart, weighed down by the reminder that I am with a man I will never love the way I love you still. Why I made that decision, I can’t say exactly. I do love him, sometimes. That much is true. Maybe I thought the change would help me move on. Maybe I thought I could will my life into normalcy.

But if so, then why am I still writing here? Why do I still talk to you in my head when I’m alone?

It’d be a cruel joke I’d have played on myself. To imprison this heart more fully, keeping it desperately farther from the hope that gives it its best life.

Dear God, what have I done?