There’s nothing wrong with me. After months of overthinking every conversation we had in hopes of comprehending why I hadn’t been enough for you, I finally said it. It was never about me, because it was always about you. Your trust issues. Your excuses. Your indecisiveness. I don’t blame us for not working out, but I blame you for making me believe that we would have.
I didn’t imagine the way your hand found mine in the middle of the night or how we laughed with the skyline behind us as we drove. I didn’t force you to buy my time in continuous chances, half-hearted apologies, and mixed signals – but maybe that part is my fault. You seemed to fit me and I was convinced that meant we were something special. Your manipulation was coated in charm and your cruelness was hidden by the softness of your smile. Everything with you was easy at the beginning, we were a roller coaster ride – so fast and reckless that we didn’t consider the abrupt stop that would wake us from the thrill of how alive we felt.
Looking back on our time together, I should’ve known my purpose for meeting you was to learn how to lose you. Our relationship was too careless, too exhilarating, too consuming to control. We were everything but steady – only fueled by the wild nature of our hearts and our avoidance of the flickering moments of reality that proved how unsustainable we were. As our relationship began to fade, I felt the adrenaline rush you used to give me turn into a dull feeling that sank my heart and absorbed me with dread.
The fun ended and all that was left were expectations you couldn’t meet and a commitment you couldn’t make.
I couldn’t understand where we went wrong, but then I realized we didn’t. Everything was the same, the only thing that changed was your mind. It was like you had been so caught up on the idea of us that you didn’t feel obligated to face the reality of it. As our distance grew and your touch lessened, I began to blame myself for your disinterest: maybe I wasn’t as skinny as I should’ve been, maybe my texts weren’t funny, maybe I gave myself to you too quickly.
And that was when I knew I lost someone far more valuable than you: myself.
You were never the right person for me, because that person would never make me question the value of the love and loyalty I have to offer. I lost you the second I met you, because you were never mine to have. You didn’t want me because I wanted more. There was nothing I could’ve done to make you see who I was and now that I think about it, I’m glad you didn’t. We weren’t meant to last forever, just for that moment, and that’s the beauty of it.
The coldness of how you left shook me, but your absence empowered me. I understand now that you didn’t like the way my eyes shined when I talked about something that mattered to me – enough, you didn’t like the chemistry between us – enough, you didn’t like how willing I was to like you – enough. And that’s okay, because you were not enough. We were not enough.
You were a toxicity I confused for thrill, but now I can breathe better.
It’s been months since we’ve spoken, but I want to thank you for squeezing my heart tight enough so that I could feel the pain, but not enough for me to fear it. For reminding me that my worth doesn’t correlate with anyone’s desire to commit to me. You pushed me so low to the ground that my only option was to not stay there. So here I am, writing this not in hopes that you read it, but that others who have felt the pain of trying to forget someone do.