It’s over. I’ve lost track of days since we last spoke. Songs that pierced me like a harpoon now wash over me with only sediments of sentiment. I reflect with resolution and resolve, no harm and no fowl.
I let you go. I write as the reality sets in. I’ve said that before, and with that comes a sense of dishonesty. Truthfully, I love you. I wasn’t allowed to say it, but I knew it. I felt it. Those words brought me so much reassurance and caused you so much fear. It riddled our relationship with clandestineness.
The ocean washed that away. Laughter rippled over the tides. A spotlight on love or myself. Dark eyes of contemplating kindness. Cheek-to-cheek smile meeting you where you are. Jokes to lighten the mood. Long-winded stories with no clear beginning, middle, or end, lost in the anecdotes of a complicated life.
The beginning. When sex hurt. Stripped away the parts that weren’t me. Bonds growing beyond you and me. Connecting us.
The middle. Never lasts. Christmas video calls from our parents’ house. Chateau Marmont, caviar, and Katharine McPhee.
To the end. Failed attempts at an end. Playing monkey-in-the-middle with our emotions. Pulling away when we got too close. Living life through the lens of your reading glasses. I tried to impress you so much I started to impress myself.
This is the part where our paths diverge. I swallow that bitter pill with salt water as I untangle the uncertainty of the last 3 years. Still, I write this with clarity. I wish you the best. I wish you all the things I wish for myself that aren’t shrouded in jealousy and difficult feelings. I wish things were different. I’ve accepted that they are not. I walk away with whatever grace I have left, ready to start anew like a wave crashing against the shore.