All My Regrets Are About You

My first regret with you came pretty early on. It was that first Friday you had been back in the country. I was angry with you for the fact you weren’t sure if you wanted to date me or not. So in spite, after I left Brittany’s, I went to see someone else. I kissed him, but it felt wrong, because it wasn’t you, and when I tried to leave, he roughed me up. That shook me up pretty bad, even though I’ve been hit by guys before, and I called you in tears. You came over, and got my mind off it…then it happened. Our first kiss. And as I kissed you, I was filled with regret. I regretted not being patient for that moment when the world seemed to stop, when I was filled with happiness — that you were home, that you were with me, that you were kissing me, that maybe, just maybe you wanted me like I wanted you.

Within a few weeks, I had another big regret. I don’t even remember how we got to the conversation we were having via text message, but I sent a text that said something like “don’t say that, because when you leave, it will only make it worse.” You responded with something along the lines of “if, not when” and we got into a fight over the fact you felt like you were trying and that I was assuming you would leave and that wasn’t fair. I regretted saying it, even though I did feel that way, I hoped you wouldn’t leave but why would you be different than anyone else? I guess in some way that related to my lack of patience too, that I was not patient enough for us to be together, and to take things slowly with you and let myself be happy with you, I was anxiously awaiting the end that I was so sure would inevitably come. After that, you grew distant a lot of the time, and only called me babe when you were drunk, and maybe a few times when we talked about hooking up.

Today, I have another. It’s been a little over 61 hours, and yes, I know the exact time I said those things to you. I’ve been painfully aware of every minute since I did. I was stupid. My friends and family infiltrated my mind, telling me I deserved better than what you were giving me, with visits every couple of weeks, short phone calls every couple of nights, and sporadic text messages. I know at some level, I need more than that, but I told you weeks ago I would take what I could get, because I’m just grateful to have you in my life, you make me happy, and let’s be honest I definitely still need to learn when it comes to having patience. I promised you months ago I would wait however long it took for you to be with me, and the waiting was killing me, but so is this.

I don’t know why you had been pulling away the last few weeks, whether it’s because you have been told you’re going back over there and you didn’t tell me, or that you were still offended that the people in my life didn’t see you in the positive light that I do, or that you wanted to end things and didn’t know how to without hurting me, I’m not sure. But at least I still had some of you. Maybe I was just misinterpreting things all together, and you were still trying, and I let my fears get the best of me and let myself destroy us. But no matter the reasons, I regret sending you that email. I regret not being patient enough to wait for what I want.
And what I want is you.

I have plenty of other regrets of things I said or did, although none compare to these three, but I know I was far from perfect in the time you gave me. I was impatient, I was stupid, I was selfish, and the greatest of all was my fear — fear that you would never want me like I want you and that the longer I wanted you the more it would hurt when you stopped wanting me completely.

So if I ever send this, which I can’t today — I don’t want to ruin your birthday — it’s to tell you how sorry I am. I am sorry for wasting your time. I am even more sorry for losing you. I hope one day you can forgive me. And more foolishly I sit here hoping, praying even, that we could work this out, but I’m even too scared now to ask for that for fear of what you would say.

By the way, I love you, not like in an “I’m in love with you, let’s get married next week” kind of way, but in my own way. Maybe that’s what is wrong with me — I fell for you when I promised myself a long time ago that I wouldn’t fall ever again so now it’s easier to break my own heart than to let you break it for me. But I suppose that’s another rant for another day, and ultimately my biggest regret of all.

One last thing, though: thank you for showing me I can love again.