I know you’re all doing fine.
That is a small comfort to me. I am aware through other people and my own (subtle) snooping, that you are happy. You have recovered. What we went through was a stage in your life, not unlike any other that changes you, shapes you, and makes you feel differently about things. I’m glad to say we both are made better by what happened between us.
Not because I still want and need you. That time is gone. I stopped needing you when I stopped answering your calls. I stopped wanting you the moment you stopped looking for me. But I am sorry because I did not exercise my ability to soften the blow. I was never truly invested in you, and so it was easy to fuck up, it was easy to let you get hurt.
And I did hurt you, didn’t I? There were days I felt you thinking of me from miles away. Those days, I knew you replayed in your head every seemingly loving word I said. You wondered if I had a heart. I could feel your stare, your furrowed brows, your questions: Why was it so easy to let go? Why was it so easy to leave?
Because you made it difficult to stay. I wanted security and love and that’s not something you were in any condition to give me, nor was I in any condition to reciprocate if you did. I was damaged, fighting my own battles, and you were caught in the crossfire.
I am sorry I gave you the impression I was ready. It was easy to do because you waited for me to be ready, and I felt too sorry for you to tell you it was all in vain. There were nights when, in your arms, I wanted to beg you not to hold me so tightly or kiss me so passionately. I knew I was a fake.
Because now, you’re happy. I’m happy. Time has passed, and I know you don’t think of me anymore. I’m sure that by now, you’ve forgotten my voice. You might think of my smile in passing and how my hair tickled your neck. But I am a shadow once on your wall, a figure once on your bed, a ghost you once thought you loved. Except you did love me, didn’t you?
I’m sorry for that too.