I've put off writing this blog post for days now.

I don't want to write it.

I know I need to blog what happened and end everything properly.

But I don't want it to end.

You left this country on June 4th 2013 at 11.20am.

My heart left with you.

I'm literally numb to everything that happens around me. 

I don't feel anything. 

I can't feel love anymore and I don't know what it is.

I've thrown myself into this imaginary world. 

A world where you don't exist.

Somewhere where you didn't meet me and somewhere I live without knowing anything about you and unaffected by you in any way.

Sometimes I don't even know if we even happened and it wasn't me dreaming and imagining everything.

Maybe you're just a made up, fictitious character that I created and you don't exist in the real world.

Maybe everything that happened was all a dream, influenced by the fairy tale princess ending I've always wanted and all the Korean dramas I've watched.

It's hard to know if you existed because you left without leaving anything behind.

You left without me.

You left me broken.

To be honest, I am grateful that I was able to spend the day with you.

Your last day in England.

Your last minutes were spent in the sun, sat next to me.

You spent the entire day bullying me because I couldn't speak. 

I had lost my voice from the night before. I cried all night, thinking about you.

You even knocked on my door to come and get your stuff and thought I was just ignoring you.

I could tell it was you knocking but you literally woke me up from my sleep and so I didn't bother opening the door.

You accused me of staring at you from the kitchen window, when all I was trying to do was hide from you.

You then accused me of stealing more of your shirts. I wish I had.

You kept mocking me for not being able to talk and kept provoking me all day, wanting me to say something. Why? You asshole.

You scolded me for eating ice cream when it's all I can eat.

You kept jigging your leg, knowing it would piss me off and wouldn't stop until I spoke to you, so I ended up punching you all day.

You accused me of not looking sick too and even noticed when I was wearing lipstick.

You also fought with me over the enchiladas, stealing the one I called dibs on because it had more chicken. Then you mocked me and my plastic fork saying I wouldn't be able to eat it and then gave me your fork after you had finished and laughed at me when I ate slowly.

It was just like normal. Bickering and fighting because it's easier being mean, than it is being nice. I felt like you cared. I was happy. Even being mute for the day didn't ruin it. But I hated how you wore my hoodie. Do you have to wear it as soon as you get it back? Do you have to wear it in front of me? I've been through a lot with that hoodie that I stole from you early on in the year. I had adventures with it for the past four or five months. I shrunk it, cuddled it in bed when I've missed you, worn it in front of you and flaunted it. It has so many memories and so many meanings attached to it.. That's why I didn't want to give it back.

When Habs came to get it, I really wanted to lie to him and not give anything back. I wanted to hide it so it would forever be the excuse of you coming to see me. Because I know you won't come just to see me. I'm not a good enough reason. 

Saying goodbye was hard. I knew you had to leave but it still felt surreal. I've spent the past 6 months waiting and anticipating for this day to come. I prepared myself mentally for 6 months but you kept putting it off every time the time for you to go came, so instinctively I started to believe that you would stay. I started to believe that you wouldn't leave me. So as it started to feel real, all I wanted to do was to jump up and bear hug you. I wanted to tell you to stay and I'd do anything. I was willing to be your puppet, your slave, your anything to make you stay. 

From the point where we walked back to your house to watch Movie 43, the point where you sat as far away as possible from me, the point we went to watch Niko's film, the point we went to San Remos, until the point you started to say your farewells; all I thought about was you.

I wanted to snuggle up to you while we were watching the film. I wanted to stick my feet under your leg. I wanted you to put your arm around me and kiss the back of my head or my shoulder as we waited for everyone to sit down. I wanted to lean on your shoulder or your chest as I fall asleep during films. I wanted your hand to find it's way to interlock with my fingers. I wanted you to look over at me when I was fidgeting during the film and give me those puppy eyes and kiss me. I wanted you to stroke my hair as you watched the film. I wanted to be able to run my fingers down your back or play with the seams of your trousers. I wanted to hold hands with you as we walked to San Remos. I wanted you to hug me because I was cold. I wanted you to tell the people at San Remos that I was yours. I wanted you to feed me your food and force me to take a bite of whatever you were eating. I wanted you to open your mouth to take a bite of my food and I wanted to tease you with it. I wanted you to tell me to stay the night with you. I wanted you to hug, cuddle and kiss me in your bed like how we used to.

But all I got was an unresponsive, insensitive asshole who let me freeze the way to San Remos, let me speak with my hoarse voice to order my food and stood there just laughing when I was being creeped on too. The asshole who didn't want to carry my stuff because I was trying to keep my hands warm and had the world's tiniest hotpants, with the world's most useless pockets ever on. You just laughed. Heartless. Then when you said goodbye, you didn't even make it different for me. You were just going to hug me like how you hugged everyone else. You always manage to leave me to last. Of course I was going to refuse. I'm a girl. I want to say goodbye to you differently. You just threatened me saying it would be the last ever chance to ever hug you. You fucking moron. You don't say that to a girl who fucking loves you. You'll break her heart. And you don't just walk off and just wave a shitty goodbye. 

I don't think you understand how embarrassed I was to be dragged upstairs, outside your room.

I looked desperate and clingy.

Probably your plan all along. I pleaded and literally begged Gloria to knock on your door but she ditched me to sleep. This girl.

It took me ages to finally knock on your door and I nearly ran away.

But then your face appeared.

That face.

The face that I love the most.

The one I'll never forget.

The one I used to wake up and roll over to.

The brown eyes that always seem so serious. The nose that would eskimo kiss me. Those lips that broke my heart with fucking boy logic and healed everything was a kiss. The beard that poked through the fabric of tops and leggings but never annoyed me. The eyebrows that used to be so animated when you would talk and furrow when you were upset. 

This face just smiled and said "It's you."

Then you came and hugged me.

When we hugged, I felt as if everything I had cried over before, melted away.

I felt like you were mine again.

I felt so safe and so comfortable and so happy to be in your arms again.

I felt you breathe deeply and heart beat quickly.

The way you kissed me on top of my head and smell my hair, just made it seem like we were dating.

I looked up at your face one last time and it just seemed like deja vu. We've both been in that situation a million times. The kiss.

It took so much will power for me to let go of you and my awkward reflex responses proceeded to ask why you were naked. Course I know why you were naked, I know you sleep naked, but you always wore pants to bed with me because you were trying to be a gentleman. 

The next few seconds were silent and awkward as I left as all I could mumble was "Goodbye", when we both know I had more to say and how right it would have been if I had stayed.

But then you said the worst thing ever.

"See you soon? In London? Or here in Hull if I come here to visit?"

What the fuck does that mean? Why are you coming back? Why did you say that to me? You know I fucking like you and know that I want you, so why would you make empty promises and give me false hope? No fucking closure. Just fucking mind fuck. 

I cried out loud on my way home. Letting tears fall down my face in public. 

I called Daph crying my heart out to her.

I'm not even sure what I even said, I couldn't really string words together to make sentences.

All I knew was that this was definitely what heart break felt like.

My first heart break.

It hurts more than any other physical pain. You have medicine and anaesthetic to mask those pain, but for that morning, I just felt my heart was being ripped apart.

I had so much to say to you. I had so many memories treasured and so many feelings that I had compressed into that heart, not willing to tell you any of them. I remember you saying that we lacked communication, making me difficult to read and understand so I stupidly thought that writing you a letter would be a great idea.

The letter told you I loved you with all my heart. 

I have no fucking idea why I said that. Or why I even wrote that letter. I should have let you leave without feeling anything but happiness. I don't even know if you ever actually got the letter. All I know is that the letter that I taped to your back door was gone when I went to check. You could have thrown it away as soon as you saw it. One of your housemates could have picked it up. Maybe you never saw it. 

God knows why I did that.

I can't even explain it.

It's all jumbled up feelings.

The worst is that I don't know if you have read it or not.

Or how you feel about it.

Or if you have and have decided I'm a psycho.

I don't fucking know.

I'll never forget you. I don't think I ever will. 

I close my eyes and everything about you haunts me.

Nearly everything reminds me of you.

It fucking hurts to know that you're probably living life to the full right now. I know you feel so much better at home. I know you've missed the sun, your friends and your family. I know you find yourself and happiness in Portugal. But for me, Portugal is a country that stole the boy I loved.

Sometimes I wish you would just drop everything and come back. 

Can you let me be greedy and selfish this one last time?

I just hope you never forget me.

I hope I remind you of everything the way you linger in my heart.

I hope you loved me for at least a bit of what we had.

I hope you care for me if we meet in the future.

I hope you can keep your promise and see me in London.

I love you, Duarte Sarmento.