I shouldn't be writing about things like this

It's been a while since I've last written something. I want to write again. 


But what's the point of writing if all I write is about you?


I'm trying to move on. But what tugs at me every day and night, leaving me no repose, not even in slumber, is the fact that we could have been. We could have been so many things if we took the paths not taken. We could have been lovers, really, if I had said yes to you that fateful November evening. 


But I didn't. I said no.


We could have still been friends, if that "confidante" whom I so trusted before had shut her mouth before telling every person in class about our past experiences. 


But she didn't. Suddenly, everyone knew about us.


Every day and every night, I always haunted by those memories of love that could have lead us to so much more.


Yes, we could have been.


But that's too late now. 


It's hard for me to let go. But I should. Because I know that you're gone. And there's nothing to wait for anymore. Nothing to hope for anymore. Just...nothing. 


I'm empty without you. But who cares?


No one does.