I know that you know I’ve written about you. I can feel your eyes resting upon the links I shared, the curious click of your mouse, the silent scrolling, and your decision to leave it alone.
You always wanted to have the last word, but not this time. I had you beat.
I’ve painted the walls of this place with my pain, my tears, and my longing for some kind of acknowledgment from you. But I realize now that I’ve been waiting for something I’ll never get. I’ll never get through to you. I’ll never hear you utter the words, “I’m sorry for breaking your heart after telling you I would cherish it.” You’ll never be mine again. And in a way, you’ll always be mine. You entered my heart, my soul, my bloodstream. The only way I know how to let you go is to bleed you out through my words. My words are all I have left.
You may never read this one last piece that has your name written all over it, and I can’t blame you for that. I believe you when you say you don’t want to cause me pain. I believe you when you say you don’t regret us. I believe you when you say you’ve let go and that you want me to do the same. So I can’t blame you for not having the right words to say to the shell of the person I was when I was with you.
This is the last time I will write about you because I don’t want to embarrass you or make you feel embarrassed for me. Our fallout hit me much harder than it hit you, but it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t my fault either. It just didn’t work out. As infuriating of an explanation as that is, there’s nothing more to be said about the situation. We just couldn’t make it work.
This is the last time I will write about you because the life that lies behind the door of that little piece of home we shared is waiting to be lived. You want to see me succeed in every possible way, and I can’t do that when I’m busy looking over my shoulder. I’m ready to continue building my life, and I can still do it while you lovingly watch from afar. You don’t have to hold my hand anymore.
This is the last time I will write about you because I’m running out of things to say. My heart is broken. I miss you. I still love you and always will. I wish things could’ve been different. These words fall on empty ears, and my heart is urging me to create new ones – to create stories that don’t involve you.
This is the last time I will write about you because you’re no longer listening. You’ve run away, which is what you do best. You’ve carelessly moved on. And you’re too busy loving the next person who will leave you feeling empty and unsatisfied in the end.
This is the last time I will write about you because you’re drifting further and further away these days – like a handful of sand slipping through fingers that can only hold so much. We went from talking every single day to talking every other day to talking every few days to talking about once every other week. I wouldn’t be terribly surprised if we eventually reverted back to talking as much as we did before we fell in love. And as much as it hurts, I know that the less I talk to you and about you, the better.
I hope to someday give it to someone who will be there for me in all the ways you couldn’t. I hope to someday give it to someone who is less talk and more show. I hope to someday give it to someone who cares about my family and where I came from as much as he cares about me. I hope to someday give it to someone who will put his ego aside and stop at nothing to make me happy. I hope to someday give it to someone who will fight for us.
I wanted to fight for you, but I couldn’t do it alone. So this is the last time I will write about you.