It took me almost two full years until I felt I was at a good place to possibly be in a relationship. I wasn’t actively looking for one, and everyone who has been in a successful relationship will tell you that’s when something wonderful happens: right when you least expect it. And now here I am, almost two months later, sitting on my living room floor sobbing uncontrollably.
I should have known it was too much of a good thing. Nothing that wonderful ever happens to me — at least, not in the relationship department. Sure, I have fantastic things that have happened in my life, but when it comes to love? I am not someone who has been lucky there.
I think that was comforting; I’ve never had a strong track record for relationships, but neither had you. That there was something so easy about being with you, that I felt more sure of myself than I have in a very long time. I started to feel comfortable in my own skin, and the last time I remember feeling that confidant and good about myself was my senior year of high school. I had spent the past two or three years battling horrible insecurities; ones that no matter what anyone said to me, I couldn’t just get rid of. It was a daily struggle of telling myself I was a fantastic human being, and that I could be okay with myself, and that I was worth it.
I hadn’t solved any of my issues yet, but you came along and it was as if the affirmations I had been trying to convince myself of finally started working. I felt like my old self again. I felt okay around you and around other people. You could ask any of my friends or family, but it had been a while since they had seen that version of myself.
I should have known it was too much of a good thing. I should have known the minute I was finally able to write a song about you, that things were headed south. I should have known the minute I decided to have the conversation about what we were three weeks earlier than I wanted to that you would freak out, that you would run away.
I should have known. I should have known. I should have known.
I cried on my living room floor. Sobbed, actually. And I know you called it a “break,” but those words never bring good results. Maybe they do for some people. Not for me. I cried as I lay in bed and willed myself to go to sleep.
There is a possibility that we will talk, and things will work out. But this is not a fairytale. This is not a Taylor Swift song. This is not any song that brings about good results. This is not one of my friends who seem to have the best luck in relationships, and this is not my daydream of good things that happen. This is only a possibility.
I’m not great at having these types of conversations, but I will do what it takes to make this work. It is equally scary for me to look up and say, this is real life and this could be something real, and you might have to make some very big decisions. I am willing to make those decisions, and I am willing to have those difficult conversations if it means I get the possibility of a relationship with you.
If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be here. But I am choosing you, and I am choosing to stand on two feet and say this is something that I want, and I don’t want it with anyone else. I want it with you. I think this could be something really wonderful but we’re not going to know unless both of us take a risk and jump. I will stand here and make you a promise that I will look out and catch you.
And if it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work, but how much better will the both of us feel knowing that we gave it a real shot? Not a “unofficial, still can’t say some things because it’s early, not being able to define it to our friends,” shot, but a real, true, stab-at-it shot.
I think we could be magnificent. But how will we know?
I haven’t exactly been praised for putting out my feelings into an article that will float around the Internet. But this is an example of me, taking a leap off the edge, knowing strangers will read this, and friends will read this, and your friends will read this, and making the statement that at the end of the day, for a while now, there is not anyone I want to do this with besides you. It has taken a lot for me to get here. We can grow, and things can get better, and relationships take work. It will not always be sunshine and rainbows. I can promise you though, that the minute it gets to be horrible for us that we can say we tried. That doesn’t mean we throw in the towel at the slightest thing. But I’m making a promise that I will not drag things out and I will try not to make things more painful than they have to be.
I’ve had a long few months to think about this, and I am choosing you. I am choosing you, everything you come with, all the decisions that come with that, and any baggage from the both of us that we might have to deal with. I recognize all of this, and all of the fears, and all of the things that might possibly go wrong. And I still choose you.