I can no longer continue to love you because I am tired.
I am grossly, ridiculously, overwhelmingly tired of being my own masochist. I’m tired of tying myself to the memory of a man that doesn’t even give a shit. A man that doesn’t even care about my feelings. I’m tired of the frequent bouts of distance and the way my feelings are thrown into a state of worried unbalance always wondering when we are going to reach our permanent ending.
I am tired of the nervous anticipation lodged in the pit of my stomach enacted by the slightest indication of disinterest I feel emanating from your resistance. I know that I am only hurting myself in the process and I am tired of this.
I am also tired of the wishful thinking that bubbles forth from my overactive imagination as I keep on replaying hopeful scenarios in my mind of better times between you and I when things were fine. Even now as I write, I imagine you looking over my shoulder, discovering how bad I want you and you wanting me equally if not just as obsessively as I want you. It makes me feel good to think of you wanting me this way. Somehow it quells the hunger temporarily.
I’m tired of the queasy anticipation I feel in my tummy waiting for you to text or call me. I’m tired of pretending I don’t remember you cheating hoping to run out of these feelings while at the same time hoping to go back to the beginning. I still feel so many things for you, even this strange need to protect you, even from yourself.
However I can no longer continue to love a figment of my imagination because it does nothing to address the very real loneliness that rests somewhere between my intuition and my happiness.
I know that you will never be mine as you admitted to being polyamorous with a penchant for fucking different people all of the time. Just knowing that I have no one to call “partner” in this battlefield of love and life makes me feel sad sometime and I’m tired of feeling sad ALL THE TIME!
I’m tired of being my own stranger as I no longer recognize who I am anymore.
I think of you in everything I do and it’s not that I am in love with you, but more so in love with the idea of loving you and how less alone I would feel by having you love me too.
It would make me feel like I am getting somewhere in the continuum of my arrested development as I have struggled to negotiate the isolation vs intimacy stage of my psychosocial development. Despite continued efforts and negotiation of prior stages, I have not been able to secure this stage. I want so badly to achieve this stage and you loving me meant that I achieved this stage but fuck that stage as loving you proved to be a downgrade that degraded me.
When I think of how I loved you, it made me feel weak, like a love sick, pathetic pulp of a man. Loving you and missing you feels like I am replaying my betrayal over and over again. Like a worn out needle scratching thin tendrils of vinyl off a broken record.
See the thing is, I can no longer love you because I am falling in love with my life and I no longer see you in it like I once did.
My emotions are starting to grow and take on a slightly logical tone. I now know that sometimes it’s better to be alone than to love someone who does not love you at all. Sometimes you are the person you have been looking for all along and you don’t need the partner that society tells you you do.
I am the love I have been seeking, the feelings that I felt were missing.
This doesn’t mean that I won’t miss who you were in the beginning but everything is ending. Everything! And endings are ok as they make room for more beginnings. Better beginnings. I will always cherish the time that we spent laughing and kissing and holding and eating. I will one day grow to make fun of these feelings as time has the tendency to add comic relief to the most painful aspects of our once upon a times grown stale by the reality of our here and now.
All I was to you was a pit stop in your exploration, a post adolescent experiment that ended as quickly as it began. This is why I can no longer love you. Just thought you should know this.