ph: Marcin Grüner
I'm typing this because it’s safer than sending you this text. Because I can talk to you here. You can’t ask me to stop. You can’t change the subject. You won’t say it’s a maturity thing, or that it just doesn’t feel right. And you won’t just tell me that you love me, and your sorry it’s not in the way that I need.
I sit here in tears. I sit and while it may not be every minute of the day, it is a good majority of them that I spend thinking of you, forgetting that we aren’t together. Somehow setting aside all the times that you’ve reminded me. I think about how I miss you. And it’s only when I’m halfway through my message to you, that I catch myself and immediately delete it. Even now, I find myself pondering all of these things I could say to you. Anything to remind you of how you once felt for me. But it’s only words I’ve already said twice before.
I can’t make you feel guilty anymore. I’ve done that too much as it is. I can’t beg anymore because I’m not sure how much more rejection I could possibly handle. I can’t walk away because I can’t let go of the odds. Even if it is one in a million, that you may change your mind.
Being rational, I know that it isn’t going to happen. That’s what my brain says. But for some reason, my heart is always on a different page. Or possibly an entirely different genre of books. While my mind reads though rational and scientific studies, my heart is skipping through la la land in the pages of a fairytale.
I stayed home sick today. And I was sick. I was awake at 3 am throwing up. You know this, but what you don’t know, what I can’t tell you, is that I made myself sick. Not purposely, of course. But nonetheless, my emotional wounds turned physical. Who knew so many tears could eventually turn into vomit?
I look back at when we first talked and its funny that I barely remember those days that the conversations were light and carefree. Flirty. They had a different tone. It lasted only briefly. And what came after became the norm. It may not have been perfect, but I was happy, even if you couldn’t always tell. Somewhere in those months, the conversations changed. You forgot to tell me I was beautiful and I forgot to tell you how much I appreciate you for all that you did. But I did. And I do. I always have even if I didn’t say it.
You’ve said it yourself, this conversation has been had too many times. And it’s always the same results. You trying to let me down easy, tip toeing around my heart, trying to help me understand that you just don’t love me the way you used to, the way I still love you. It isn’t that you haven’t made yourself clear, what with the many times you’ve both gently and bluntly said you don’t feel the same and your not sure you ever will. It’s not even that I’m too stupid to understand plain text or simple words. I’m not sure really what it is that always keeps me from moving on. I am starting to question myself more and more though because of it.
I love you, in a different way.
And as far as I can see it isn’t going to be changing anytime soon for me. But I hope that one day we will love each other in the same way. Even if it’s your way, instead of my own.