I think I loved you, or maybe I was in love with the idea of you. How you were, how I was; how we were, was everything I ever wanted. Affectionate, sweet, patient, and pure. As soon as I saw you I knew that I wanted you. I wanted to feel you on me, your mouth, your hands, all of you all of the time. The suspicions I had at the beginning faded but never went away. Towards the end, they only grew in numbers. The insecurities I voiced at the beginning felt validated when we parted. I questioned your love, your patience, and your kindness. I questioned your intentions and your desires.
I started to find the man staring back at me was the shell of a little boy, scared and alone and desperate for love.
Maybe if I was more honest about my good feelings, my opinions and need for answers wouldn’t seem so harsh. Maybe if I felt more attractive and less concerned about how my body looks without clothes I’d be the good kind of whore for only a boyfriend to appreciate. The things I felt strongly about I couldn’t communicate because I know they would end in an argument. Did you realize how you spoke to me? Did you care? My attachment to you went skin deep and when I see you still, I want your arms around me to comfort me and keep me warm. I miss your gaze in that loving way you used to linger on my face.
If you were sound, would I have stayed? Yes. A thousand times, yes. The truth is that I texted you.
The truth is that I never didn’t want you, I just didn’t want us to hurt each other on purpose.
I pulled the plug before you could. The truth is that, right now, I would still find it hard to turn you away, even knowing what I know. Maybe you were cheating on me and wish we never were.
I know now I can’t give you what you need; a source of support for your ways. You love the drink, she loves the blow, and I could not be more square. I can’t keep up with your habits, I can’t compete with her moves. I’d never talk to you the way she did and still will. I would never try to hurt you or make you feel small. I’d never rip out your throat or tell you that you’re garbage. I think you’re perfect in your goodness and wish you would let your demons go.
I can still see you as a little boy when I think about us as kids. You were sweet and freckle-faced. I’m glad I got to know you in the way that I did. I think we were meant to meet again, and I love to think back to us as little ones and how we had no idea that our story wasn’t over. I don’t regret our kisses or how you always made me feel safe.
It was always real for me.
I can’t speak for you or make you tell me your true feelings, but you made me realize what I want.
I want a partner who won’t push me away and will tell me what’s wrong. I want a man I can wake up to and get lost in his gaze without fear of being lead astray or lied to. I want to be a better woman. I want to be an equal partner in ways that would make me blush to write down. You were a dangerous one for me because I know I would have given up a lot for you, things I don’t think I’m meant to.
I still believe those final things I said to you. If you ever become the man you can and deserve to be, I’d be jealous of the girl who gets you. Your soul is what drew me to you, not your good looks or your charm. My soul recognized yours as a home to lay my heart down. A part of it will always be yours and the idea of never speaking or laughing with you again is what hurts me the most. I’d love to be your friend – I think we’d be good at that.
I know we weren’t together for too long but to me, it doesn’t matter. Just know that I wanted more time with you to love you even more than I did or let on and that I was never too good for you or lying about how I felt. My lack of experience doesn’t relate to my knowledge of honesty – I know what I felt was due to you, not due to the fact that you were a lot of my firsts.
It’s hard for me to believe I wish you so much goodness even though you didn’t say anything to me when I needed you to. I wonder if you ever stopped loving her or if you used me to make her mad or to try and stop yourself from wanting her even though she hurt you and you left.
I know how you used to look at me wasn’t bullshit but maybe it was lust more than love.
You used to be the thing that made excited for another day. I was excited to see you and canoodle over lunch breaks and steal private kisses when we could sneak away. I remember the night you cried to me because you didn’t want me to leave. You told me you were only happy when I was with you. You saw me cry twice but I have cried more than that over you. Does saying these things make me pathetic? I don’t think I care. Even now I forget I can’t call you to ask what you’re doing or if you can talk to me until I fall asleep. Somehow I need you more now that I ever did. Somehow I miss you more standing next to you than I did when we were far apart.
You’re a moment that moved me; I’ll never forget that. And I know, and I think you know, you’ll never find someone like me to wipe away your tears and hold you for as long as you needed, or make you laugh in the ways that we used to. You were my baby and I wanted you to feel comforted and safe. I’m sorry for your pain, I’m sorry for your losses, but you never seemed to care about mine.
I guess we just needed more from each other – our foundations too shaky to hold each other up.
I have to remind myself that we were real and that we happened. It feels like a dream, and in the sad moments, a nightmare. I’ve never mourned the loss of a relationship like this, and I’ve had longer. I guess there is still a lot I want to say to you, but in the end, I know you won’t listen.
So I write it down on paper. I tell it to myself and I cry.
Eventually, I’ll find another man and I hope he is everything, and nothing, like you.