I wonder what’s going through your head right now. I’m here in bed on this grey morning, and my mind flits to you. I often try to imagine where you are and what you’re doing. It’s like I’m mind-stalking you. How bizarre. I often think about broad questions of the universe, hoping that they’ll lead me on some non-existent path back to you. Questions about how both of our Jupiters are in Leo and what that could mean. But existential questions of life are not important when I just want to know if you miss me. Do you? Do you miss my strange laugh? My stupid jokes that only I found funny? Do you still have ‘J hearts C (forever)’ on your whiteboard at home? You know the one. Or did you erase it with the fervor and quickness that you erased me out of your life?
You know, it’s not all bad. It’s not all good. It’s just… unfinished. It’s a forever question. When you end something that’s not ready to end, there’s a lack of closure. Nothing’s definitive. We’re always left to wonder about what could have been. What could have been?
In all likelihood, what could have been boils down to the fact that we would have devolved eventually. What could have been is that I would feel more hurt than I already do now — which seems impossible. What could have been is you could have stepped up and not have been scared. But, hell, you weren’t ready for that. And who could blame you?
What I’ve learned is there might not be a wrong and a right way. But there’s definitely a mature and an immature way to handle things. And sometimes, it’s no surprise which path we each take. And that’s sad.
I imagine sometimes you do think of me. I won’t go so far to say you miss me, but in my imagination, I go there. After all, it’s just a fantasy. Half the reason I want you to miss me is for my own selfish pleasure. My own need to feel wanted. Does any of this even have to do with you? But when you think of me, I hope you feel warm. I hope you think of silly memories or the times when I looked sexiest (in that green hoodie with my crooked glasses on). I hope you feel more like a whole person knowing you shared so much of your person with me. A person that will never forget you. A person that will always be fond of you.
But most of all, I hope when you think of me, you say: “Wow, I truly hurt someone. Someone who deserves to not be hurt. And for that, I am sorry.” Don’t even say it out loud. Knowing that you thought about it for even the briefest of seconds is enough. Enough to move on. And enough to begin to discover what true freedom feels like.