Deleting this page by the end of the week and starting everything over on a new url that I won’t be giving out. If I want you to have it, I will give it to you.
I don’t want to be this person. No one does. No one wants to admit that they are unable to move past something which happened so long ago that not even the most hopeless romantic would justify it. I know when I’m being pathetic, and letting something eat me from inside like a rotten tooth, and I don’t like it any more than I’m sure other people like to be around it. I can feel that I walk into a room and, when I hear you might be coming later on, suck the energy out of it completely. I know that people are holding their breath, waiting for me to make a scene. I know that everyone thinks I should have gotten over it. I hate being her, but she’s who I am.
Part of me wants to ask you to let me go, even though I know how ridiculous that is. If I really think about it, I understand that you are not intentionally stringing me along or periodically giving me false hope for something we might have in the future. You’re no longer a part of my life, and you don’t even acknowledge me. As much as it pains me to admit, you likely don’t think about me. Your days probably turn into months without ever fondly looking back on the time we spent all day walking through the woods, watching the leaves turn and holding hands with our fingers laced. Those memories don’t exist for you — or, at least, not in a way you have to acknowledge. You can store them away for a rainy day when you want to think about something sweet and forgotten. I have to live with these memories, constantly nipping at my ankles and reminding me that they are everywhere I go.
I know that it’s not your fault. But I want to let go. I want to walk away from what we had and make every day a conscious step towards something more positive, something where I don’t factor someone into my life who no longer cares about me. I want to be brave in a way I always used to be, but haven’t been for some time. I want to return to the me who laughs at jokes the loudest and is always up to try something new. I miss her, and at times have almost forgotten who she is. Part of me believes that the moment I truly let you go will be the moment I get her back — that you are, in a way, crowding my life and preventing me from living fully. But I know that it’s not a step you can take for me.
I love you more now than I ever did, I think. And I know that part of this must be because I cannot have you, and things are always heightened with desire and longing. But I don’t know how to pretend that I don’t still burn for you the way I did when I was allowed to express it, if not more intensely.
Please know that I’ll stop reaching out. I’ll stop making a fool of myself. I’ll stop being this person that I never wanted to be. I am working every day on making my life something beautiful and fresh and interesting, something that has nothing to do with you. And I hold nothing against you — even if I wish I could, even if that would make everything so much easier — but I know I can’t be around you. I’m working up the courage to phase you out of my life (and my mind) completely, so that one day you can enter and leave as any other pleasant acquaintance might. Because I’d love to just run into you in a grocery store one day and have a nice little chat about what we’ve been up to, then go about my day as if nothing happened. But right now, I know that I couldn’t. I know that seeing you unexpectedly would destroy me. One day, I will get there, though. I’ll be me again, and I’ll have forgotten this brief interlude of sorrow. I hope you meet me when I’m that person, so you can forget who I am today.
And so being young and dipped in folly I fell in love with melancholy.