In the back of my mind, there are always going to be questions. Questions about how we ended. How our love led me down a path of self-destruction. How we both decided to break apart. And then why you eventually let me go. Why didn’t you fight harder? Why didn’t I?
I didn’t want to be let go of. And you knew that. We both were overloading ourselves with too much hurt and pain. It was all just too much to bear. And I was always the one who cared too much.
It sucks being the one who cares too much.
I have always been a lover. I love too hard. I want too hard. I breathe too hard. And sometimes, my body and mind goes into overload and I just can’t take the stress of the world. Maybe that’s why you called it quits. Maybe that’s why you couldn’t handle it anymore. You couldn’t handle me.
But, after all that has happened, and now that all the scars have been scabbed over, I just have one question for you. If we could start over, and if you could have me again, would you? Would you do it all over again? And if you said yes to that, then would you let me go again? Would you say goodbye a second time?
I know we hurt each other just like everyone does. But I think we loved each other more than that. We loved harder than anyone could see with just their eyes. And I think it counts for something. I think it counts for a lot.
Sometimes I wish I could truly ask you about your regret. To ask if you would change things, or if you would keep everything that happened untouched. And I would want you to shout back, “I won’t ever let you go again. Ever.”
But, see, my head is full of imaginary scenarios, and false hope that takes up too much space.
Because even though we ended a long time ago, I still have a tiny bit of hope inside of me. I still believe. And that’s what makes it worse. Because you don’t owe me anything anymore. You don’t even need to talk to me ever again. But, still, we chat like old friends on some days. We share our lives to each other in a way that’s so foreign to me.
I’m still not used to it. I’m not used to just being friends with you. I’m not used to refrain from typing “I love you” furiously on the keyboard. I’m not used to not feeling those relentless butterflies. I’m not used to feeling sad when I talk to you. It’s weird. It’s unnatural. It’s forced. Because I still care too much. I still do. And I’m ashamed that I do. But I can’t help the way I feel. I can’t hide my emotions until they dissolve into thin air. They will just keep growing stronger if I try to deny them.
So, if you ever read this (which I don’t think you ever will), I just want to know if you would let me go again. And if you would, then why? What did I do to make you want to see other people?
Was I too sensitive? Too in love? Too much for you?
I just want to know. I want to know if there was anything I could’ve done to change your mind. And I would want to know, if there is anything I could do to change your mind now.
I know it’s unhealthy to want answers to questions that will never be answered. I know it’s silly to write an essay to a boy who will never read it. But sometimes, it feels good to write something he will never see. It feels good to take the time to write your heart out until you feel better. Until you feel cleaner. It’s powerful to know that no matter what, you’ll always have the power to feel better on your own. To be empowered by the things he will never get to see about you. To make art into your pain. To make beauty out of all those questions.
So, maybe after all, I don’t want the answers. Maybe, I don’t ever want to know. Because that reply won’t give me any clarity.
It won’t bring me peace. And neither will he. I’ve got to get it on my own. And I’ve got to find it by myself without his help.
If you are struggling with letting someone go, I want you to know that you were a person before him. You were a whole, powerful, being before him. You don’t need those answers to live a better life. You don’t need those answers to clean out the mess he made in your head.
You just need to know that you should never let yourself go even when someone else does. And that you always need to realize how someone rejecting you is not your loss. It’s theirs.