I Wonder If You Ever Think About Us

Have you found a new man? Have you found the love I gave you, and more? The peace that was supposed to come with it? Or are you still thinking about us? About our nights in white satin…

Are you alone, or have you found support? The kind you never saw I provided so wholeheartedly.

Are you even there? Are you among those tens of thousands of people reading this? Or are you happy, in love with a better version of me? Or with a not even close one? The one that, maybe, runs his fingers through your beautiful hair just a tiny bit better? A tiny bit softer, a tiny bit gentler… The one that touches your face a tiny bit more tenderly?

Do you, at all, miss us? Or are you enjoying new conversations, new ideas, frontiers? Those I was, perhaps, never meant to reach? Or you never wanted me to. Were you afraid of where I could have taken you? Was it the fear of a man being able to take you where you wanted to go, that obscured the idea of where you wanted to get on your own? Was it wrong for me to have wanted to take you there?

Did I threaten your independence? Your intelligence? Your free spirit? How could that even be possible; your spirit is the one thing that freed mine. Were you afraid of my sudden freedom? What in the hell were you so afraid of? I was of zero threat to you. If anything, I should have been threatened by your freedom. But I wasn’t. I was empowered by it. Why weren’t you empowered by mine?

Was it about all the fuck-yous, when in the corner of your disregard of my feelings? As if I was there only to account for yours… Well, then, fuck you, still.

Doesn’t it strike you as odd that it was me who wanted out? Do you bear any responsibility for our demise? Do you feel a burden? Do you, as I, sit at night, remembering us? Fantasizing about what we could have been?