Everything I Wanted to Tell You But Never Could

I didn’t know how to be enough for you. I never did, I never will. I didn’t know how to love you. You didn’t know how to love me.

We didn’t deserve each other. I spent nights crying about you, wondering why I could never be enough, wondering if I ever would be. Bombarded with the words from those around telling me I was more than enough, that you didn’t deserve me. They were right. You don’t deserve me, but I don’t deserve you either. I deserve so much better, but so do you.

You deserve someone that isn’t afraid to love you. You deserve someone that isn’t scared to speak their mind, someone that can wear their heart on their sleeve and remind you every second how much you mean to them. I deserve someone that understands. I deserve someone that knows that I’m scared, that can understand the complexity of my mind. I deserve someone that will stay around long enough for me to be comfortable enough to explain the complexity of my mind.

I was so scared to trust you. You only heard what you wanted to hear. Mostly silence. I only told you what I wanted to share. Mostly silence. You deserved someone that was ready to share everything with you. I deserved someone that would wait until I was ready to share everything with them.

There were so many things I wanted to tell you. So many things that crossed my mind, the voice in the back of my mind just begging me to let it actually leave my lips, but I couldn’t. So here.

Everything I wanted to tell you but never could.

You hurt me. You really fucking hurt me.

I prayed for you. I don’t pray. For years, I denied God. I told myself he wasn’t real, I stopped going to church, and I stopped believing. But I met you and I started praying again. I prayed for you. I prayed for myself. I prayed for us. I didn’t think I could take care of you, that I could look out for you the way that I wanted you to be looked out for. I needed to put my faith in a higher power again for you. You restored my faith in God.

I think opera is boring.

I loved the way your eyes light up when you told me about something you loved. You became so animated, like a little kid telling his parents about something he just discovered. You’d get so excited about the things that you love, so passionate. I always hoped one day you’d talk about me that way.

I didn’t mean it the time I told you I couldn’t stand you. I think I couldn’t stand the way you made me feel, the way you made me think. I’d spend hours of my day just hung on your words — they replayed in mind for days after you said them. I always wondered what you really meant or if you really meant it.

I could go on for days — there were so many things I wanted to say, things you needed to hear, but I couldn’t. I have so much more to tell you, but more than anything else, why?

I guess that isn’t something I want to tell you, but more something I want to ask you. Why did you do this to me? How could you do this to me? How could you spend all that time with another person, build a facade of happiness, and then hurt them? Hurt them and not even care.