The worst part about having your heart broken is the disappointment.
That slow withering away of idealism mixes with a gradual realization that what might have been will never be. This knowledge casts a long, unpredictable, shadow from which melancholy emerges at varying intervals.
The knowledge that you gave your all, but through no fault of you own, it was ultimately insufficient, allows for over analytical critical self-examination which results in crippling self-doubt.
I loved her more than she ever realized or I thought possible given the circumstances.
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