I read something today that made me take this final leap to write this. As I had a tearful epiphany during yoga that I should write, write something, write it all down. I always found comfort in writing. Also, I knew I had to address you. I’m sure the late night phone calls and strange text messages has been foreshadowing this letter. There are so many things bottled up in my mind, my heart, like it’s just sitting in a Coke bottle. It is taken by the slim waist laying perfectly in their hand and violently shaken over and over again. I figured I should give it some time, time to fizzle, time to reach some sort of normalcy, if it is a phase at all. But like I said, I read something. Something that made me take this initial step. To write.
I read that people don’t fall in love, they leap. They leap in love. I have never heard anything so true, rang so true. I realized I had it all wrong. It wasn’t a realization as much as it was that poor straw that broke the even poorer camel’s back.
All this time, I was waiting to fall, hopelessly, fall right into this magical pool of love and unicorns and glitter and shit. But on the contrary, it is an active and conscious decision to jump to your death. Not just your death but you actually wish and hope for two deaths. Although morbid, it’s actually okay. Like when I saw Frida Kahlo – the movie, and at Frida’s and Diego’s wedding, a radical photographer stood up to say a toast. She denounced marriage and said very reasonable things against it i.e it was a systematic way to put women in homes, it holds no real merit that equates to love, etc. She ended with – “but when two people know this and consciously decide to do this, then by getting married, that’s radical in itself.” It’s a conscious decision. It’s a conscious decision that really makes something significant, that can create something, may it be good or bad, that really makes all the difference. You have to make it with your whole energy behind it. And so why am I telling you all of this. Well, this is something that made me think of you. Among other things. I learned a lot while you were gone. And when I thought I could live without an ounce of you in my mind, you would sneak in at the silliest of times.
I have been right and wrong about many things. I am not sure how our story fits in quite, yet. I don’t have the full power of retrospection, yet. Ah, story. That’s where I wanted this to lead up to. My deepest flaw is my love for stories. And that is why we didn’t work out. I idealized you. I idealized us, just like I idealized everything and everyone else. Which although, somewhat fulfilling, it never worked out. And when I realized you weren’t a character, I kept writing, and I made new pieces, new plot twists, and here we are. Apart. And maybe that’s also our story. But here is what I’ve realized and it kills me. I’ve finally realized this.
This awareness has not led me to denounce idealization but to recognize it and have a creative place for it. Now I am being. I don’t want to try, which coincidentally enough — storytelling was always simultaneously linked to – the act of trying. Everything I am doing right now is to be. I have no shame, which a few months ago, would be very difficult for me to say. Evident in every step I take, I am happy to write this, to do this, to continue what I am doing now, and to move forward. But listen, I am writing this to you because I am leading up to one of my more important thoughts.
I know what you’re thinking, I am returning to you like I always do. And I am expecting you to just allow me to walk back in. And I don’t blame you for thinking this, for feeling defensive, unsure, and hurt. I am aware of what this may look like. When I am at my weakest, you are the strong one. When you are weak, I am strong. And this struggle has forced me to think about why I am thinking about you so strongly now.
Questions were raised in my mind – Is this really just a pattern? Is this just a phase and if so, won’t I get over it in several days, a week, a month, a year maybe? Maybe I was imagining an elaborate story again, wouldn’t it be funny to be able to say, “Oh, you know…third time’s the charm.” So I did what I could only do, try to find the answers, think about it in circles until I even confuse myself.
The next thing I could possibly do was compare. I compared this feeling I have now to the last time, when I reached out to you after our first break up. It brought a great amount of insight. And I have to share it with you with hopes that you can see the difference, too. Because it will be just as accurate and simple to say, “Well, I AM DIFFERENT,” but let me get deeper. You deserve at least that.
When I reached out to you a year or so ago, I was on a cloud and lived on vaporware dreams. It was appropriate for that time. I was still chasing a very intangible dream and everything I wanted I did not see. It wasn’t like I was surrounded by the greatest examples and those who have made it in the creative field. I knew a few and even those few led very different paths from me. Everything I wanted was imagined, conjured up, but I knew it could be real. It was real and I was going to have it. I just knew how to dream and imagine and make up stories and pictures. And I was brave enough to fight for it even if I wasn’t always too sure. I had a feeling and I went with it. I’m glad I did. So that year or so ago, you were a dream, a beautiful one.
Our story wasn’t over and that was evident because the second time around, I learned a lot with you. I learned things about myself. I learned things about you. I learned about love that only once time passed, retrospectively, I could then compare and learn from. Back then, when I texted you to meet on the green hill in East Brunswick, I had no intentions. I just wanted to feel. I did things because I felt it. Now, I am no longer in a dreamy vaporware. I am fulfilling my dreams. My dreams are a reality. I am a different person because I am filled with full intent. I am doing things with strong spiritual awareness and conscious energy. Every step I take, every move, is evident of that. Before, I wrote on paper. Today, I write poetry in subways that sits in my phone, stories through emails, jot notes on paper, anything and anywhere I can. My blog is taking a sharp turn to share raw experiences instead of showcasing a hallow facade. I have professionally reached milestones and made some small but brave steps.
I found a strong spiritually in Dominican Republic. I felt the earth in Hawaii. I found a family in Alabama. I opened my eyes in Paris. I’ve made mistakes, too. Plenty. But none of which outweighed the gains. I regret nothing. I am fully here. I am perfect with the flaws and insecurities and chaos and probably still very crazy. I am also aware of how long this journey still is. So I am also here, writing with full intentions. I am ready to love and I want to love. You deserve my love. And, I want you.
I want you because you are the first person I want to tell when I found my angels in DR. You were the first person I thought of when I came back from Paris. You were the first person I thought of when I needed a chest to lay on.
When I had a dream where three of the most important people died, it was Om, my mother, and you. And I specifically thought – “That’s it. I lost the love of my life.” But I am fully aware of the other possibility, that this letter may not be enough. Just because I’m sitting here telling you I’m ready, you may not be. And there’s even the chance that I may be missing something, overlooked something. So I am also writing this with the completely opposite intention, too. I am also ready to let this go. Because you’re right. No one should ever end something with the intentions of it coming back. That’s cruel. And I’ve realized how cruel I was to you. And in a way, this is all therapeutic. I have bled nice and blue in these words. Here lies no regrets, no take-backs, no shame.
Because I love you. Because I trust you. I trust your decision. And I will even take absence as an answer. This is it.