2/22/21
You have already forfeited your right into my thoughts and my life.
You have already removed yourself from this equation, and have left a void in its place.
Yet, somehow, surprisingly, I still have things to say. So I will yell them into this void that you created.
And I know that by saying these things, I won’t change the result. Things aren’t going to simply add up. You won’t, and can’t, simply come back and make everything whole again.
You said that something was missing with us, something that was never missing with her.
You said that you still love me and feel the same way that you always have, but that you have to chase this what if.
You said that you still want to make me happy, and you still want to make wonderful memories until we’re old, but you can’t give yourself to this relationship in the way I would want and expect.
This is your narrative.
This is mine:
Whatever we had was a big, real, candid, consuming love.
It was platonic, it was romantic.
However, it could not, and never could be, open. It could never be freeing, it could never be selfless, it could never truly thrive. You, with your limited resources, could not fully allocate to me, because there was a seed that you had to continuously, shamefully, tend to in secret. How did you expect to offer yourself to this love when you have always been preoccupied with the ideas of another?
Because of that, ours would be difficult. Cold, occasionally. Stunted. Lacking.
The softness and tenderness of its early possibilities were strangled in your selfish hands, to leave this mangled, scared, insecure thing.
I’m mad at that little seed for existing. But I am far more hurt that those hands I carefully entrusted with my heart could not support me and tend to me properly.
It did, however, teach me resilience — our love managed to survive for a long time despite the circumstances.
I won’t kid myself. You might be right; maybe she can offer you something that I can’t provide. Maybe she is the one.
But I know you. I have spent four years getting to know you. I planned a life with you. And I think you are romanticizing this notion of her and who she was and who she could be.
According to you, she said that you are a bad person who tries to do good things. You fully agree with this statement.
I am not going to let you off easy and say that you are a bad person.
But, you are not yet a good person. You continue to let selfishness get in the way of improving yourself, which also makes you not a good partner, or a good friend.
I’m sad because you have so much potential to be a good person.
I expected better of you. You spent all this time trying to figure out what was missing in our relationship, wondering about her. You should have spent this time growing up, with or without me.
You will give it a try with her. And possibly, others.
But if you don’t change your behavior, you will only continue to hurt people. You will continue to arrive at the same result. And instead of apologizing to all the women you hurt, you should apologize to yourself. Because you are doing yourself a huge injustice.
And, who knows, maybe you will manage to find her without growing up. But the woman you will end up with is willing to accept a man that I cannot.
In my narrative, now, I am the center of my universe.
You were, and are, only special because I chose to shine my light on you.
I wanted to. It was my utmost pleasure.
There will likely always be a part of me that eagerly waits to shine my light on you again.
But if this version of you is all you can offer, I am better than this.
