--and one time they didn't
It's been five years and the only reason I've come back to say how goddamn happy I am. There are still things I worry about, still fears and insecurities about this happiness but rereading what I've had to say in the past about ... things is just. I'm so happy.
I don’t know yet how to miss you properly- instead there’s a picture of you on my phone that makes my own smile catch me off guard because I’ve forgotten to expect it. I don’t want you find it, it’s my own little secret to try and curb this unreal tower of feelings but I know one day- probably soon- you will and that I won’t mind the teasing, because I’ve never had the chance to be caught for doing something so silly about someone so kind.
The days that aren’t mine to spend with you aren’t the hardest, but they are the strangest. Like my brain is at war with my anxiety and paranoia but only on the one topic of taking up your time, instead of every other aspect of my life. I know you wouldn’t ignore me just because of the day, but I also know that the stretches of time between responses are because you have other important people in your life- like your spouse- who need your care and attention too. I’m not jealous or envious of it, just sad about the constant reminders that we won’t ever regularly share a bed, or wake up together to just laze through the first few hours of the morning- laughing because I want you and kissing because I want you.
I don’t even know if that upsets or comforts me more.
In my best moments, it comforts because of course I want the best of things for you. Of course I want you to experience this awful wretched life we all live with the best people, who have the best intentions for you just as I do. Who love you so much, just like I do.
I’m still working through my worst days, but even then- even when I know so solidly in my paranoia that you’ll never have enough room for me in your life, not the kind I want or think I want- that you’ll never look to me and think I want a holiday with just her or I’m so glad I get to wake up to this face I feel so much for or I can’t wait for my family to love you like I do-and I know I demand so much. So much time- so much careful kindness, so much space that you must at times feel like you’re dating a creeping vine of poison ivy that’s determined to strangle the very life out of you. I know what I’m like. It used to be that I would ask for so much, but at least I gave so much in return. Space in my life, my heart, my days and plans. Now, I think I’m still learning how to not take even though not giving has become a familiar friend.
It astounds me how easy it is for you to not plan for a future, even one with no likelihood of happening. Though with more than one partner already set to accompany you in it, I suppose I can understand the comfort of not needing another with me. And even as I type that out I know it’s unfair, I know we’d address that if it became relevant or practical but I’ve always liked to daydream. Could you even stomach the taste of a future that stayed here? With my sinking, unstable work and passion that meant I couldn’t leave it? It worries me to put off thinking about because I don’t invest in things that will just end up hurting me for nothing. Not that this time we have is nothing but I promise you I hurt the way I love- too much and too long and too fast, and I know that this happiness is great but can still feel my nails digging cresent moons into any skin I could reach months after Danielle, the way I collapsed like the birth of a black hole because even trying my best I couldn’t be anyone without her for so many years.
I don’t like ending things badly- you’re certainly not a bad person. You’re certainly one of the best I’ve met, in my life, when it comes to caring for me. Much better at it than I am, though I suppose that’s not saying much. I do love you so much, my darling. I love you in the only way I know how- too much, will love you for far too long after you’re gone, have loved you far too quickly to be safe with my own feelings. But I worry.
I don’t know yet how to miss you properly- instead there’s a picture of you on my phone that makes my own smile catch me off guard because I’ve forgotten to expect it. I don’t want you find it, it’s my own little secret to try and curb this unreal tower of feelings but I know one day- probably soon- you will and that I won’t mind the teasing, because I’ve never had the chance to be caught for doing something so silly about someone so kind.
The days that aren’t mine to spend with you aren’t the hardest, but they are the strangest. Like my brain is at war with my anxiety and paranoia but only on the one topic of taking up your time, instead of every other aspect of my life. I know you wouldn’t ignore me just because of the day, but I also know that the stretches of time between responses are because you have other important people in your life- like your spouse- who need your care and attention too. I’m not jealous or envious of it, just sad about the constant reminders that we won’t ever regularly share a bed, or wake up together to just laze through the first few hours of the morning- laughing because I want you and kissing because I want you.
I don’t even know if that upsets or comforts me more.
In my best moments, it comforts because of course I want the best of things for you. Of course I want you to experience this awful wretched life we all live with the best people, who have the best intentions for you just as I do. Who love you so much, just like I do.
I’m still working through my worst days, but even then- even when I know so solidly in my paranoia that you’ll never have enough room for me in your life, not the kind I want or think I want- that you’ll never look to me and think I want a holiday with just her or I’m so glad I get to wake up to this face I feel so much for or I can’t wait for my family to love you like I do-and I know I demand so much. So much time- so much careful kindness, so much space that you must at times feel like you’re dating a creeping vine of poison ivy that’s determined to strangle the very life out of you. I know what I’m like. It used to be that I would ask for so much, but at least I gave so much in return. Space in my life, my heart, my days and plans. Now, I think I’m still learning how to not take even though not giving has become a familiar friend.
It astounds me how easy it is for you to not plan for a future, even one with no likelihood of happening. Though with more than one partner already set to accompany you in it, I suppose I can understand the comfort of not needing another with me. And even as I type that out I know it’s unfair, I know we’d address that if it became relevant or practical but I’ve always liked to daydream. Could you even stomach the taste of a future that stayed here? With my sinking, unstable work and passion that meant I couldn’t leave it? It worries me to put off thinking about because I don’t invest in things that will just end up hurting me for nothing. Not that this time we have is nothing but I promise you I hurt the way I love- too much and too long and too fast, and I know that this happiness is great but can still feel my nails digging cresent moons into any skin I could reach months after Danielle, the way I collapsed like the birth of a black hole because even trying my best I couldn’t be anyone without her for so many years.
I don’t like ending things badly- you’re certainly not a bad person. You’re certainly one of the best I’ve met, in my life, when it comes to caring for me. Much better at it than I am, though I suppose that’s not saying much. I do love you so much, my darling. I love you in the only way I know how- too much, will love you for far too long after you’re gone, have loved you far too quickly to be safe with my own feelings. But I worry.