Let’s cut the chase and skip the hi-hellos; I bet you already know me by now.
I’m just here to tell you what’s wrong. By wrong, I meant the truth.
Here’s my version of the truth: I want you to know that we’re happy, that I enjoy every second I share with him. I want to remind you about the time I pick him up from where you left him off. He was a mess that I saved. I want you to know that he turns me on just by his glance, smile, and that goddamn jawline. In case you miss his touch, I want you to know that I like how his fingers are aggressive at times, how his kiss upgrades from gentle to desperately wild. I admire the substance he makes out of our empty conversations, the way he kisses my eyelid when I feel close to tearing, the most bizarre secret I’m pretty sure he’s never told you. As I write this, I want to laugh at you for leaving him. Although I just cringe at that thought. It only gets pointless because what you had with him is over.
I remember that one night when he kissed me on the forehead. I knew the night was young and there was more magic to come. He kissed me on the lips down to my shoulder. He kissed me on the parts I just normally touch when I need to. He pulled away and tossed me onto the sofa. I heard my heart pounding, quick. The pace was so fast that the moment I blinked I found myself undressed. I felt his palm tattooing on the pieces of my entirety. How could you let go of a guy like him? Loud and proud, I found my body infused in his; we traded touch, taste, souls. We lost ourselves exploring each other until the night got exhausted with us. I felt tears rolling down his face as he kissed me goodnight. And for the first time after so long, I swear I felt loved.
Now here’s another version of the truth: I want you to know that we had done so many things together. But while I do it with him, he does it with you. He smiles at me at the thought of you. He stares at me while looking at you. In case you miss his touch, I want you to know that every time his fingers become aggressive and his gentle kisses turn wild, he isn’t furious. He is pained. I saw through him long enough to understand this. I want you to know that our conversations never seem so empty when it’s about you. I try to divert but jokes on me, it always leads back to you. The moment he kissed my eyes when I felt close to tearing, I want to tell you that I did. I want you to know that he never told you his most bizarre secret because that secret is you.
I remember that one night, that same night when I thought we made love, when I thought I was loved, he kissed me goodnight and with his teary eyes half-closed, he called your name.
I don’t know how I was able to sleep then. If I even slept. I just knew that no matter how much I deny it, he still loves you. Did you get that? He still loves you. It became clear to me that you are his life in all ways I will never be.
If you find yourself thinking of running back to him, please for once, do it. With me he’s in a safe place. But if there’s one thing I learned, a safe place isn’t necessarily home.
If you find yourself thinking of running back to him, please for once, do it. Because he needs you in a world where he restricts me from entering and this is something I can’t control. If being with me means him staying wrecked, tired, lost for the longest time, do it.
If you find yourself thinking of running back to him, please for once, do it.
Because it’s you. It was always you.