Hey. How are you? Fuck, I’m not sure what to say right now because I miss you and think about you everyday. I hate that I do because I know you do not. You are busy getting on with your life, and I don’t matter anymore. I was convenient and when you first stumbled upon my light, you were blinded, and needed to get to the end of me.
You needed to discover the secrets between my thighs, my lips and my words. I intrigued you and after you cracked and broke me I no longer held any magic. I was all that there was and now I’m standing here, some of you still lingering, trying to move on. A yoga class, drunken nights with good friends and working overtime isn’t allowing me to erase your memory. I was part of a phase, of something that was supposed to be temporary and I was okay with it, so I convinced myself. I entertained your thoughts, feelings, opinions in return for beautiful touches, words and kisses that seemed to be so much more than they were.
I noticed a disconnect soon after some time. You weren’t there, your eyes were vacant and I got scared, screaming for something, anything, a reason to believe in, but all I could smell was your fear. You knew that I had plans of giving you the rest of me and you didn’t want any of it. I felt the coward in you on different days and I thought my love would be enough. I didn’t want to lock you down, I just wanted you, all of you, every part, good bad and the cold sweaty that make you scream out at night. The parts that you numb with alcohol, drugs and pussy. But you had no intention of loving me back, of wanting me back and I had all of the passion and spark left of burnt out logs when you left.
But that’s what happens when someone like me deals with someone more selfish than me, someone more scared of their own feelings than me. You came off as this care free, go with the flow soul that took risks but as time went on, your true colours bled out onto the canvas and my body was/is smeared. You lost me, the beautiful imperfection and now stain on your sex life. You felt every part of me so I still defend you when my friends and family fight against that unfortunate one and a half years. I want to be happy and I know this too shall pass.
You told me that I should take us as a lesson learned and take that love to my next man. I laughed into the phone with tears rolling down my face and couldn’t understand where your monotonous, robotic words were coming from, I was jealous. I wish I didn’t feel so hard and the pain wasn’t so cold, I wish I could flip that switch just like you and that I could be the bigger person, the better person that could take what I’ve learned from this clusterfuck and go safely into the night with my heart and hands wide open, into the arms of my true love.
But it doesn’t work like that. I don’t function like that and I hate that I am able to admit it because I went so fucking long without realizing what the lump in my throat was, what the swirls in my stomach was and that pain in my brain was. I need a cigarette but I don’t smoke it just helps me see that whatever I’m feeling will soon float away into the air like poison leaving my body. Is this supposed to be a love letter? Seems like I should probably cover it up with good poetry and flowers of wisdom but I can’t, my brain is full of walls, old walls, I thought I could set aside but they came up as soon as you told me there was someone else.
But I still feel all of it. I can’t get away from it, this is fucking bullshit. I loved you. There I said it, I fell for you baby boy. I fell so hard that when I realized, my knees were already bloody, and my back was too spineless to even get back up. I wish I was more aware of my feelings, I wish I respected myself more to walk away from you earlier but your curiosity made me want to stick around. You told me you might mess it up and now looking back, it wasn’t sweet, it wasn’t romantic, it was nothing, meant nothing. So this letter is dedicated to maybe not you but to the me that believed in everything that you said was true and failed to see the truth. This letter is to the me that got left behind because she felt less than every step of the way.
The girl you lost.