(no subject)
Sometimes I have to concentrate to remember the why.
I remember the whens. Those are easy. 8 years since I last saw you. Two since we last spoke. Small numbers marking big amounts of time. They sound so uncomplicated don't they? So strangely inconsequential. Such short sentences. Eight years, two years.
Or then there is ten days, two weeks. Tiny amounts of time. Very unimpressive.
So I suppose it really shouldn't matter at all.
Perhaps I have a secret masochistic side that enjoys this. Perhaps my subconscious is torturing me on purpose. I mean I honestly am struggling to find a reasonable explanation. In a month I'm getting married and I know that besides the fact that I fucking HATE weddings with a fiery and growing passion, this is probably the single most brilliant decision I have ever made for myself. And yet, and yet....
It is hard for me to not think of you. Of the times when you said you should have asked me and the times when you did ask me, as ill judged as they were. In the midst of dread wedding planning I think of what you drescribed to me, of what you wanted for us and I realise with quiet humility that I wanted the same thing.
I feel in my heart the want to tell you that it's going to happen, that I'm marrying someone else but I'm too afraid of the consequences. We never made good friends you and I, it was always more.
At least it was on one side or the other.
Which of course makes me think that, in the predictable, inharmonious rhythm of our relationship, you are somewhere blissfully happy and not thinking of me at all. Which I suppose is what I really wish for you. To not think of me. To carry on blithely through life and not to think of what could have been. Because I think of you every day, and they are not easy thoughts, they are a burden. I ache with them sometimes. I still ache when I think of you sometimes.
Eight years, two years.
It's ridiculous. I push myself to remember the whys and of course they are always the same. The cons outweigh the pros. I chose happiness and not love (at least not that kind of love), I chose stability and a future and someone who I can admire and respect. These are all things that tv shows and movies and books would tell us are the wrong choices because Love conquers all and is the only thing that matters. But I'm certain that that's wrong. I'm certain that I know better. Because my life is good. And if I secretly hanker for a man that makes me furiously angry as much as he makes me happy, that breaks my heart daily even as he comforts me, that makes me sigh with disappointment and frustration as much as he makes me laugh; well, that's my problem isn't it? More fool me.
But I want you to know that it was hard for me to let you go. That I thought of you daily (still do) and I cursed myself for doing so. I thought time would heal me (it hasn't), I thought you might try to persuade me to change my mind (you didn't), although I suppose even if you had I would have paid you no heed.
For the first year of those two years without you I would ask myself a daily question:
If he was here right now, what would I do?
And every day it was different. A kiss, a punch, a blank stare. A scream, a tear, a hug. You see? This isn't what happiness is made of. You said I couldn't possibly know. But I know. Some things can't work.
But I did love you. And now, after all these years, that is the thing that I can't remember. I'm not sure that I ever told you. I'm not sure that you ever said it to me. I remember the exact temperature of your skin (like you'd just come in from the sun, even in the depths of winter), I remember the feel of your hair and the murmur of your voice as you sang along to something whilst you kissed me. I remember your hands (long square fingers) and how beautiful you made me feel (I don't think I've ever felt beautiful since).
My brain is so hazy on detail when it comes to so many things but I remember things about you so perfectly that they could have happened yesterday. But I can't remember telling you I love you. Perhaps we just didn't do that. Perhaps our odd inability to love each other at the same time stopped us.
When I loved you, you didn't care about me and when you loved me I hated you. What a mess. We can't even blame youth, we weren't even that young. Perhaps that's why thoughts of you have stayed with me. It's so unfinished. It's so unfulfilled. And of course it is far too late.
So here I am. I miss you and I can't tell you so. I miss you terribly. I've lost a lot of people from my life over the past few years, some their choice but mostly mine (some of the stories would shock you) but you're the one that haunts me the most. I've had enough time but I can't seem to let you go. I'm going to keep trying though because it's the only choice I have.
But.
If you ever read this then you should know that:
I love you, I miss you, I'm sorry. I hope you're happy. I hope you're the man I always knew you could be. I hope you're living the life you wanted. I hope you think of me sometimes (only sometimes) and it's with fondness, uncluttered by the mess I left things in. I'm sorry, so sorry that we can't be friends. I still can't listen to Nine Inch Nails because of you. I still get nostalgic when I see mountains. I wish things had been different. I wish I could see you again, just once, even though I'm afraid that wouldn't be enough. I wish I could live two lifetimes because then I might have spent one of them with you.
I wish I wish I wish.
But perhaps we only thought we loved each other and really we were mourning our youth. Perhaps we only loved the idea of each other and not the reality.
I remember the whens. Those are easy. 8 years since I last saw you. Two since we last spoke. Small numbers marking big amounts of time. They sound so uncomplicated don't they? So strangely inconsequential. Such short sentences. Eight years, two years.
Or then there is ten days, two weeks. Tiny amounts of time. Very unimpressive.
So I suppose it really shouldn't matter at all.
Perhaps I have a secret masochistic side that enjoys this. Perhaps my subconscious is torturing me on purpose. I mean I honestly am struggling to find a reasonable explanation. In a month I'm getting married and I know that besides the fact that I fucking HATE weddings with a fiery and growing passion, this is probably the single most brilliant decision I have ever made for myself. And yet, and yet....
It is hard for me to not think of you. Of the times when you said you should have asked me and the times when you did ask me, as ill judged as they were. In the midst of dread wedding planning I think of what you drescribed to me, of what you wanted for us and I realise with quiet humility that I wanted the same thing.
I feel in my heart the want to tell you that it's going to happen, that I'm marrying someone else but I'm too afraid of the consequences. We never made good friends you and I, it was always more.
At least it was on one side or the other.
Which of course makes me think that, in the predictable, inharmonious rhythm of our relationship, you are somewhere blissfully happy and not thinking of me at all. Which I suppose is what I really wish for you. To not think of me. To carry on blithely through life and not to think of what could have been. Because I think of you every day, and they are not easy thoughts, they are a burden. I ache with them sometimes. I still ache when I think of you sometimes.
Eight years, two years.
It's ridiculous. I push myself to remember the whys and of course they are always the same. The cons outweigh the pros. I chose happiness and not love (at least not that kind of love), I chose stability and a future and someone who I can admire and respect. These are all things that tv shows and movies and books would tell us are the wrong choices because Love conquers all and is the only thing that matters. But I'm certain that that's wrong. I'm certain that I know better. Because my life is good. And if I secretly hanker for a man that makes me furiously angry as much as he makes me happy, that breaks my heart daily even as he comforts me, that makes me sigh with disappointment and frustration as much as he makes me laugh; well, that's my problem isn't it? More fool me.
But I want you to know that it was hard for me to let you go. That I thought of you daily (still do) and I cursed myself for doing so. I thought time would heal me (it hasn't), I thought you might try to persuade me to change my mind (you didn't), although I suppose even if you had I would have paid you no heed.
For the first year of those two years without you I would ask myself a daily question:
If he was here right now, what would I do?
And every day it was different. A kiss, a punch, a blank stare. A scream, a tear, a hug. You see? This isn't what happiness is made of. You said I couldn't possibly know. But I know. Some things can't work.
But I did love you. And now, after all these years, that is the thing that I can't remember. I'm not sure that I ever told you. I'm not sure that you ever said it to me. I remember the exact temperature of your skin (like you'd just come in from the sun, even in the depths of winter), I remember the feel of your hair and the murmur of your voice as you sang along to something whilst you kissed me. I remember your hands (long square fingers) and how beautiful you made me feel (I don't think I've ever felt beautiful since).
My brain is so hazy on detail when it comes to so many things but I remember things about you so perfectly that they could have happened yesterday. But I can't remember telling you I love you. Perhaps we just didn't do that. Perhaps our odd inability to love each other at the same time stopped us.
When I loved you, you didn't care about me and when you loved me I hated you. What a mess. We can't even blame youth, we weren't even that young. Perhaps that's why thoughts of you have stayed with me. It's so unfinished. It's so unfulfilled. And of course it is far too late.
So here I am. I miss you and I can't tell you so. I miss you terribly. I've lost a lot of people from my life over the past few years, some their choice but mostly mine (some of the stories would shock you) but you're the one that haunts me the most. I've had enough time but I can't seem to let you go. I'm going to keep trying though because it's the only choice I have.
But.
If you ever read this then you should know that:
I love you, I miss you, I'm sorry. I hope you're happy. I hope you're the man I always knew you could be. I hope you're living the life you wanted. I hope you think of me sometimes (only sometimes) and it's with fondness, uncluttered by the mess I left things in. I'm sorry, so sorry that we can't be friends. I still can't listen to Nine Inch Nails because of you. I still get nostalgic when I see mountains. I wish things had been different. I wish I could see you again, just once, even though I'm afraid that wouldn't be enough. I wish I could live two lifetimes because then I might have spent one of them with you.
I wish I wish I wish.
But perhaps we only thought we loved each other and really we were mourning our youth. Perhaps we only loved the idea of each other and not the reality.