Three years after you, and I am with the most amazing man I have ever known. I love him with everything in me and, for some reason, he loves me the same way. He knows me inside and out, but you’ll always know me just a little bit better, won’t you?
He doesn’t know why I flinch away sometimes when he moves in a little too quickly. But you do. You know that I flinch because my wrists still sting from all the times you grabbed them too tightly.
He doesn’t know why my hands get clammy when I have to change plans, or say the word “no”. But, you know that I get clammy because of the way you’d scold me, and berate me, anytime I had to whisper “no” to you.
He doesn’t know why I panic when I can’t reach him. You know that it’s because I remember the fear I felt every time your phone went to voicemail. It’s because your two-day benders would turn into three or four, and I’d be left wondering if you’d finally reached the high from which you’d never come down.
He doesn’t know why I’m so surprised every time he takes care of me when I’m sick. You know it’s because of the night I spent in the hospital, and you never called to check on me. You know it’s because you spent that night with a woman you bought in Amsterdam, and you never even answered my texts.
He doesn’t know why I sometimes take a little too long to kiss him back. You know it’s because my mouth still remembers the way you kissed me and held me down, never quite listening when I asked you to stop.
He doesn’t know why I cried the first time he told me he loved me. You know. You know that I cried because I still remember the night I whispered those words to you and you hushed me, telling me that you didn’t want to deal with that.
He doesn’t know why I get jealous when other girls eye him. You know it’s because of all the nights you came home with someone else’s perfume on your skin. And you know that it’s because you would tell me it was my fault that you strayed.
He doesn’t know why I’m just a little bit fucked up. But you do.