What is there to say to you?
I’ve wondered why I keep writing about you, to you, for you, after all this time. I repeatedly pick up a pen and find scraps of paper just to get my thoughts down before I forget. I’m always searching for better words, simpler phrases, non cliche metaphors, more honest ways of reaching out to you. My mind is in constant contemplation of how to get through to you.
Don’t you realize, how much you mean to me?
But apparently that’s not enough. Nothing I do is ever enough. Has it ever occurred to you, that you ask too much of me? I am not perfect. I make mistakes. And everything I want to say to you, gets misconstrued with what you think you hear. And even this confession, after so many others I’ve handed to you in my own vulnerability, may go unheard in your stubbornness to blame me for our downfall. Because I doubt you’ll read this. But then again, who knows what you’ll do in this silence.
All I know is that you left.
Without giving me a chance to fight for you. Your absence sucked the fight right out of me. I’m tired of this back and forth. Except I fear this time you’ll never come back. If only you had let me defend myself…I could have done something to save <this> whatever it is. Except it’s not what you want it to be. I’m not who you want me to be. Which is funny, because I tried for so long to be who you want. Then when I finally realized I should just be who I want to be, you decided you want me. But you never said you love me. Never directly to me.
Not that it would have changed things I suppose.
You want me, but do you love me? You never said. I can never read you, or these things you do and do not say. But if you do, love me that is…well, it would be ignorant of me to assume that your love is unconditional. Because I would think you’d understand that these things take time. We can’t just go back to who we were. That is what I do though, I assume. So I am wrong more often than not.
I am also sorry.
For a lot of things. For how we fell. For how we have apparently ended. We both made mistakes. Mostly out of our desire to keep each other close. I think, because I fear that if I let go–I’ll lose a part of myself. So I desperately try to keep you. As do you, with me. We’ll both have to learn how to forgive each other, and forgive ourselves for this mess we’ve made, together. I wish things could have been different. They aren’t though. We’ll have to get used to that.
I struggle to know what to say.
Knowing that some of it will hurt you. And some of it you’ll misconstrue. Especially if it comes out wrong. But I can’t say it if you won’t listen. I know you asked for space, for silence. Even though I don’t agree, I’ll respect it. And I’ll be here, if you ever need anything, studying my dictionary and sounding out every syllable as I write.
It’s just my nature.
To pour my heart out to you. Even if it comes out in tangles and I can’t stand how it sounds. Because I think I’ll always be writing to you, about you, for you. Because you’re you, and I’m me. No matter what happens, I’ll search forever for better words, simpler phrases, less cliche metaphors to reach out to you.
For now though, this is all I have to give.