My Letters to You

Dear You,

What's wrong with me? It's been almost a decade since there was an "us," and I still find your memory strung around my neck, weighting me down. I can't move on. This is my life now, remembering you. I don't miss you. I don't want you, or even to go back and live those days again.

I just remember you.

And pretend. That may be the worst part. I pretend to love someone else. It didn't start that way, I thought that in time your hold on my heart would loosen, I'd start to feel again. And maybe I would have if I'd chosen better. Instead with every kiss, every touch, I am reminded how alone I am. I used to treat your every expression as a treasure, and you reciprocated. No one else seems to speak the language. He doesn't notice my despair, he can't feel the falseness of my affection, nor does he notice when my soul takes flight for a brief moment. I think it's because he is in a constant state of neutrality. He appears to feel nothing, and his motivations come from places foreign to me. We don't understand each other, and it simply pokes the bruised surface of my desolated heart.

I know you're asking why I stay. I know it because I ask myself the same thing in those all too frequent moments of weakness. I stay because I know what you taught me. That that thing I am looking for, that I thought I found in you, isn't real, and should I find it, it will be a life destroying lie that I need to run, and run fast from. I stay because I know that this is safe, and it is the best I can hope to find. It is love, as imperfect as it is, it is love. And the only thing to keep me from completely detaching from humanity.

Maybe it's foolish, but I continue to hope in spite of you. I hope I can find the indescribable. I hope I can fall in love again, and that when it happens I'll have some way to know that it isn't a lie...that I'll have some way to trust it.

So don't go ruining that too. Asshole.