Tom Kaulitz.

I loved her, but I left her. She wanted to get married, start a family, and live a quiet life. And me? Anything but that. But the truth is, nothing was ever enough for her. I could give her the moon, and she'd still tell me, "You don't love me." "Why do you think that?" I'd ask. "Your eyes..." she'd say. "I see it in your eyes..." She always wanted more... and all just to be normal, essentially. To live the same life her parents had. Carl Jung said, "Normality is the greatest goal of failure," and I think that huge difference in perspective ended up separating us. I traveled, I met people, and I experienced things. It was fascinating, it's fascinating. Many complain about being a teacher, but few talk about the biggest perk: vacations. I never started a family, so while my friends are busy taking care of their babies and arguing with their angry wives, I'm still exploring this world. And I teach physical education with great passion; I'm a favorite teacher for many. Once, at the end of the day, one of my best students gave me a gift to thank me for the school year. I was speechless, so I didn't say anything. It had been a long time since I'd received a gift. Before he left, I went out to look for him. And just as he was getting into his car… I saw her. His mother, it was her… how happy she looked… Something I never had the courage to admit is that you were right, I didn't love you enough. The idea of ​​having an eternity with you didn't fill me with security or excitement, but I did love you. I missed you every day, I had you with me all this time, you filled my silence, you were absent in my successes, and you interrupted my empty nights with others, always leaving a space… Maybe it was never you, and it was always me who didn't know how to love you, who didn't know how to have you, who didn't deserve you. Perhaps in another life.