I remember our first date. I remember not noticing the time because the conversation and the laughter just flowed so well. I remember you taking me home and hoping you’d call me again. And you did!
As I got to know you in the days and dates that followed, I found that you were an interesting combination of depth and simplicity, of intensity and ease, of sensuality and intelligence. I liked how your reactions were so unlike what my history with men had taught me—you didn’t make a big deal out of things most would find weird or too much. I liked how everything was cut and dry with you and that I could say whatever was on my mind, you’d listen to it, and we’d discuss it. I liked that I could make you smile. I liked that you could never seem to get enough of me and that our sexual chemistry is completely in sync. I liked that your life was put together and that you’d achieved almost everything that you had wanted for yourself since you were young. I liked that you were socially engaged and that you were passionate about work and socio-political issues. I liked your sad eyes, your sweet smile, and how your stubble felt against my skin when you kissed me.
I liked everything about you, it seems. Even though you weren’t good at expressing emotions, I had learned to read your cues. You didn’t know how to give compliments, so I learned how to subtly fish for it. I had learned early on that you were terrible at messaging and communicating, so I knew I had to endure your lengthy silences. It never felt like sacrifice because I understood that this was how you were.
I also knew that you had doubts about us, but being the eternal optimist that I am, I thought if I just stayed, if we just kept talking and you got to know me more, that you’d eventually see all the glorious possibilities that I saw for us.
But my wont to see the good in people, to see promise even in the direst situations, can become a blind spot.
Because I revelled in the feeling of being with you and having you in my life, I failed to see that you never actually shared my comfort level. Sure, you were there laughing and talking along with me, but you’ve always had complete control of our psychological distance. Whereas I was so ready to open myself up and let you in, you kept me at arm’s length with full knowledge of just how far you were willing to go and just how much of yourself you were willing to engage with.
Your boundaries and limits had always been very clear to you; whereas, as usual, I was just diving into everything and winging it and figuring it out on the fly. You’ve never led me on. With our mutual agreement to always be completely honest, you made yourself very clear that although we are both physically attracted to each other, you just didn’t see any possibility of more for us because you don’t do long distance relationships. But of course, I just had to push. I saw potential and thought, what the hell, I’m just going to go for it! And of course, because you’re not a completely horrible person, you gave it a try for a while.
Until you didn’t anymore.
Looking back now, I know there’s nothing I could have done to keep you. You are right for me but I will never be right for you. It just wasn’t about the distance. We are just two very different people. Even if I had chosen to stay near you, I would have eventually worn you down with my extraversion, emotional intensity, and my need for constant communication.
You are everything I wanted in a man, but I will never be good enough for you. You are too smart for me. Though I can talk up a storm and I am quite capable of holding up my end in an intellectual conversation, I have always been in awe of your intelligence and was daunted by it. I don’t think idol-worship would’ve done us any good.
This isn’t insecurity. I am not demeaning myself. I am merely plainly stating what I have come to understand after hours of pondering— you were perfect for me but I just wasn’t the right fit for you. I acknowledge that without bitterness or anger.
I’m still hopeful though. I know my guy is out there though I have yet to meet him. So for now, I will continue grieving losing you. But only because I know I have to cry my heart out so it will be clear and ready for when my right fit comes along.