When it comes to dreams, I always wanted her to be happy. I wanted her to have everything she desired and do everything she ever wished for. I’m not a bad guy, but I know I’ve painted myself as one. She believes I’ve done things to break her, that I’ve always spoken harshly to her—and yes, I did those things intentionally.
The reason behind my actions was simple: I wanted her to see that I wasn’t the right guy for her. I wanted her to walk away, to find happiness elsewhere. But despite my efforts, I couldn’t always stop myself from doing what I truly wanted for her. She stayed, waiting for me to become the man who would understand her. I always understood her, every feeling she had, but I chose not to show it. I wanted her to leave me so she could find real happiness.
I know she never truly enjoyed the time we spent together. She hated me, yet she loved me at the same time. Maybe she never realized it, but I was good at making myself seem worse than I was.
Yes, it’s true—I wanted her to buy a car for herself, and I wanted to buy my dream bike for her. No matter how terrible I seemed, that was always the truth. I loved her, but I also hurt her—every moment, every day, every year.
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