And I know you know, and you know that we’ve been here before.
I haven’t put it into words recently; I haven’t really acknowledged that it’s even true.
I guess, it’s because I haven’t wanted it to be this way. But this time I’m not scared of it anymore. I am not afraid that something will happen, or that people will judge me, or that people will see me, that you will see me and that you’ll know that after all this time.
It’s always been you.
But there’s a catch. I’m in love with you, but there’s a catch. There’s something about the way that I love you that isn’t. Ideal.
I don’t love us. I don’t love what we had. I don’t even miss it. I’m not still in love with our love.
Our interests don’t match, we have nothing in common, you don’t think I’m all that impressive. You don’t stoke my ego. You like things, I like feelings. I want the whole world, you’re fine without it. We don’t see eye to eye, we don’t even entertain our differences. You roll your eyes when I get going and I keep going even though I know you’re not listening but because I want you to give a fuck or something.
But, you’re not complicated and neither am I. And. I think that the illusion of this physical world pulled us and stretched us.
I scratch my head, and I scratch my neck and I roll back my shoulder and I adjust my shirt. Trying to put the pieces all together.
I love you for a lot of reasons but I love you the most because of how insecure you are, because you don’t see all the good stuff that’s inside of you. And that, for some reason, makes you more beautiful than anyone I’ve ever really known. And. In some perverse way, you not liking yourself made me want you more. You deserve that. And, no, not just because you’re you, but because, we all do.
It’s easy to ignore how much I love you when I don’t see you, when I don’t hear about how you’re doing, when I know how much the people in your life want me around. It’s easy to forget you when I don’t want you back. Necessarily.
But every once and a while, you creep, and I can almost tell, I can usually feel that it’s coming. A picture of you with her. A thought of you. A dream, sometimes. A answered text. An encounter in a crowded place.
A conversation that seems light, but a feeling that’s almost heavy. Not suffocating, but intense and emotional and I know I never tell you this but, it’s always scared me too. You’re usually uncomfortable. I’m usually pensive, trying to choose my words so fucking carefully. You’ll ask something serious then, and you’ll fix your eyes on me and I’ll look at you and I’ll lean in a little. And that’s when I’ll know. That it’s still there.
I’ll know just how real it still is.
I don’t know how to feel, now that there’s a good chance we’ll never see each other again. I don’t know if, your physical absence will cause it all to disappear or bury itself or just hang around. I have no way of knowing.
But I know now, that there are some things that we eventually grow weary of running away from. And. No one understands, and that’s fine. And I don’t want you back. And that’s fine too. But, you hold a place in my heart, and as a matter of fact, maybe it’s even more than that but I’m too tired to be afraid of it anymore.
I’m not sure what’s keeping me here, and I’m not asking you for an answer. I’m not asking you for anything, really.
You’re leaving, and I’m staying and maybe you’ll come back but I think that from now on, when you’re here I’ll probably be somewhere else and when you’re there I’ll be here.
If I’m going anywhere, I’ll probably go to far. Probably away from you, chances are