You'd dump your trauma on me and I'd take it all happily, thinking it'd help you feel better, lighter. I thought you deserved to feel the happiest. And I'd easily swap your pain with the rare moments of joy I managed to feel. I stayed up at nights listening to you vent about your failed relationship, madly in love with you, shattering silently on the floor of my bedroom, ignoring my pain and paying heed to yours. You always came first, right? You were so dreamy, how could anyone ever hurt you? It felt absolutely cruel. I wanted to nurse your wounds and it was honestly too late when I realized that I was burning myself all throughout to warm you up. I didn't stop though. Why would I? You were someone I'd never want to lose. You made me feel wanted for a short amount of time. Your scraps of love and attention made me feel like a queen. I felt so loved. It touched my heart. No one ever expressed that kind of love to me before. didn't even love myself half as much as loved you. I was trained to be a giver, to cater to everyone else's needs, and the same pattern unfolded here. You kept depleting me of the little love I had and I didn't mind it. We both would pour our love into you and I'd watch you bloom. You'd give your love to everyone except me. I wanted to claim a piece of your love. Your time. Your attention. I wanted to talk to you, more. I wanted to go deep into your psyche to understand and explore every bit of you. Everything you did made me fall for you harder and harder. It seemed to me like you enjoyed hurting me. Making me wait. Watching me get jealous. Triggering my childhood wounds. I'd sacrifice my self-respect and initiate a conversation all the time. You'd play it cool. You were cool. But you were cold. And distant too. You didn't hesitate to walk all over me or use me like your punch bag, unknowingly. I took it all in not knowing how to pull myself out of the mess I got into.