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Description
Living in solitude was a good thing and a bad thing. It was good, because there was no one to bother me, no one to piss me off, no one to fuck with my head, and I didn't have to become attached to someone before potentially never seeing them again. It was bad because I was lonely. There was no one there to talk to, no one to annoy me, no one to comfort me when I was down. I had to jump from place to place, and not care about who I hurt along the way. But... What if I cared about the person I hurt? That was my mistake. I stayed in a town for too long; it was a small town, and I thought I could be safe there for a while.
And then I fell in love. I knew it was love. He eventually left, and I actually followed him. I didn't want to be apart from him, but I knew I'd have to leave sooner or later. Funny, though, I never knew if he really loved me too, or if he just didn't really care whether I stayed or not. Inside, I knew I'd have to leave, but really, I didn't want to. Actually, I did and I didn't. I didn't want to leave because, well, I loved him. But I wanted to leave so desperately, because I knew that if I stayed, someone would catch up with me, and he would get hurt.
As I said, I wasn't sure if he truly loved me or not, at least, until the day came that I really did have to leave. I had no other choice. We had had a serious run-in with someone whom I will never speak a word of as long as I live, and he was the one that got hurt protecting me. The day after that, I figured it out; I knew he loved me, because he begged me to stay, and I did, for a day at least. We spent a wonderful night together, and that made me feel even worse about leaving in the early hours of the day. No note. No goodbye. No "I love you." I just up and left. I know it was the right thing to do, but it still tears me apart to think of him. There was still a part of me that never wanted to let go of him. But I did. And I've not seen him since.

Description
Living in solitude was a good thing and a bad thing. It was good, because there was no one to bother me, no one to piss me off, no one to fuck with my head, and I didn't have to become attached to someone before potentially never seeing them again. It was bad because I was lonely. There was no one there to talk to, no one to annoy me, no one to comfort me when I was down. I had to jump from place to place, and not care about who I hurt along the way. But... What if I cared about the person I hurt? That was my mistake. I stayed in a town for too long; it was a small town, and I thought I could be safe there for a while.
And then I fell in love. I knew it was love. He eventually left, and I actually followed him. I didn't want to be apart from him, but I knew I'd have to leave sooner or later. Funny, though, I never knew if he really loved me too, or if he just didn't really care whether I stayed or not. Inside, I knew I'd have to leave, but really, I didn't want to. Actually, I did and I didn't. I didn't want to leave because, well, I loved him. But I wanted to leave so desperately, because I knew that if I stayed, someone would catch up with me, and he would get hurt.
As I said, I wasn't sure if he truly loved me or not, at least, until the day came that I really did have to leave. I had no other choice. We had had a serious run-in with someone whom I will never speak a word of as long as I live, and he was the one that got hurt protecting me. The day after that, I figured it out; I knew he loved me, because he begged me to stay, and I did, for a day at least. We spent a wonderful night together, and that made me feel even worse about leaving in the early hours of the day. No note. No goodbye. No "I love you." I just up and left. I know it was the right thing to do, but it still tears me apart to think of him. There was still a part of me that never wanted to let go of him. But I did. And I've not seen him since.