A somewhat small confession: I look at your Facebook page every once in a while. Just a few times since we talked, just to see how you are.
I realize it’s none of my business anymore. I keep reminding myself of that, and it’s not like Facebook gives me much to go on, but just now, when I was noticing your new profile picture and the new friends you’ve made…for the first time I felt genuine happiness for you.
I couldn’t help but notice you’d met a girl and she asked how you hadn’t been friends on Facebook before. You made one of your fantastic replies I used to fawn over. And she said “Wow. That is great.” (Which I now remember was a response you deemed as insufficient from me…how fucking ironic).
I don’t know the story behind you and her. You may have known each other for a long time or just days. Like I said, it’s not really my business–but I thought for a moment, if this girl was good for you, if you fell for her. I would be happy for you. I wasn’t strangely jealous at just the thought of you with someone else.
Because even when I was angry and beyond words, I couldn’t handle that thought. Selfishly so. I didn’t understand the feeling because I knew my feelings were not romantic, but I still felt that pull–that possibility of those feelings coming back.
That didn’t mean I thought I was invincible in terms of you loving me, in anything I was terrified you’d get over me at any second and realize I wasn’t worth anything because I couldn’t handle this at all. That has always been my worst fear. That I wouldn’t be worthy of your love (or your time).
But at least for a moment I was selfless in my hopes for you. Regardless of reality, the idea of you being happy with someone else didn’t pain me. It gave me hope that we’ll both learn and grow from this. That some day, I can call you up and we can “forget” old wounds because we’ve both had time to heal.
I still hold to what I said last year. I just want you to be happy. And I’ll do everything in my power to make you happy.
However far away, I will always love you
However long I stay, I will always love you
Whatever words I say, I will always love you
I will always love you.
You’ll probably be mad at this entire revelation, take it out of context–the basics: For a moment, longer even, I knew things would be okay because underneath everything, I still care about you. And I’m finally in a place where I can separate my depression and you. That sounds wrong too…I think I’m taking care of myself well enough that it’s not selfish anymore—-I’ll stop trying to explain myself. It’s not getting me anywhere…
I’ve already broken my own rule when it comes to writing about you. I wrote a poem outside of this well hidden box.
You managed to escape onto my computer screen for a moment and I wrote a poem. It’s relatively short, fairly simple. It’s funny because that first night when I called my sister sobbing after we talked. She said I’d get through this. I’d talk about it, I’d write about it and, at that moment I couldn’t fathom putting how I felt into words, into some kind of art because all I felt was pain and remorse–nothing beautiful that had potential to heal.
I couldn’t immortalize that night in poetry or prose or any literature. I just wanted to forget, to not feel it. But here I am, over a week later–writing recreationally about how I miss you. It may have taken months, but I do miss you.
I honestly don’t know what to say anymore.
You’ve taken everything I thought I kept safe.
But unlike you,
who gave yourself to me freely, without hesitation
The few parts I had kept for myself
were taken recklessly,
without thinking of the consequences.
So without knowing it,
I have become just as empty as you
Is there a chance we could fill each other back up?