It's official. He's out of the picture. Somehow I feel sad. For myself. For him. For the two of us. Whatever I do, whatever I say or how fucking vulgar I do it, there's just this elaborated image of us in my mind that always pops out whenever something reminds me of him. I guess I feel sad because now there's just really no way, just beyond 0%, that that image is going to be part of reality. The funny thing is, I feel more sorry for him. Gee, I swear to you, I could have done everything for him. Anything, anything at all. And he just threw it away, just like that.

But what I really wanted to say, what really is the reason behind this entry, is this: I'm glad he did what he did. Even before, a part of me was just waiting for him to do something of the kind, waiting for him to do something that would qualify him as a bastard. So that there'll be enough reason for me to move on. The thing is, I used to believe in what I wanted to believe. I saw things my way. I excused him for all that he has done to me, thinking that maybe he has a positive reason behind them. But then I grew tired and was determined to let him go. It's just that I can't because I still couldn't hate him. So when he finally did that, I can only say that I was glad. And I cannot grab enough words to explain just how much.

Alright, so that was the end of it. He really is part of history now. Looking back, it's funny how I had sworn I fell in love with him. If there's one thing that I learned from this tragedy, it's this: Don't ever mistake love for what it's not. Of course I learned a few more other things, but I'm not going to that just this moment.

It's 1am. I'm off to bed.