On Running Headlong into Brick Walls

I don’t know how else to do this.

In the past, I’ve had time, months, if not longer, to figure out what I want to say.
And by that time, the emotion has faded, and I’m left with only the ruthless cold logic that I cling to so desperately. 

I thought, if I just set up my computer, put on some music, that the words would finally come. 
But, I’m looking at this screen, and there’s a disconnect between my brain and my fingers. 

Because, right now, my internal monologue is more or less screaming 

Goddammit. Godfuckingdammit.

You messaged me this morning. And I don’t know what to say to you. 

There’s a part of me, a large part of me and my heart, that wants to just accept your apology. Just say, okay. Like I always have. But, I can’t. I can’t say its okay. You know it’s not, I know it’s not. I told you I would never lie to you, and I don’t intend to break that promise.

Whenever I saw you, my brain turned to mush, and the rest of the world seemed to dim around you. I don’t trust the words that would come if I asked to speak to you in person. If I told you, hey, we need to actually talk about this.

That, and, I don’t trust you to actually say yes. I don’t think you’ll actually read this, to be honest, if I even were to send it to you. But, I’m writing it anyways. Because this isn’t for you. This is for me. This selfish thing I want and will do regardless of how it affects you.


You told me, you were the better man.
And your way of proving that was to ignore my existence. 

Because to you, it wasn’t worth having the argument, the discussion, the goodbye.
The one fucking thing I asked you for. 
Just give me a goodbye.
You couldn’t handle any of it.


Months ago, when we first started this tangled mess of a thing, I said I’d wanted to see you,  but didn’t message you, because we didn’t work that way. You messaged me, you called me, not the other way around. And you just looked at me, with this surprised, almost disgusted, look on your face. Said that was a fucked up mentality, that you didn’t want that as a friendship, let alone anything else. 

Except that every time I tried, you shot me down. I told you I wanted to see you, and you made me feel like a desperate whore every time. You made me feel like a burden for wanting to see your face. 

Why did I let myself believe you could at least follow through on saying you were done?

About a week, maybe two, before the last day I saw you, you apologized for freaking out on me. For treating me like garbage. For not handling ‘us’ well, whatever we were. Said for the thousandth and one time that you did not want me as your girlfriend. But apologized for freaking out. Only to then turn around and pull a damn Houdini. 


Every time I said I was okay, I meant it. Every time I said you made me happy, I meant it. Every time I said I just liked being with you, I fucking meant it. 

And we weren’t together, and we weren’t committed, but you know 
We had a fucking relationship. 
You have a relationship with your friends, with your mentors, with your teachers. With your boss and your employees.
You had a relationship with me. 

You did not understand, and I still don’t think you do, that we could be together, and not committed.
That we could find peace in each other, and not put a title on it.
That you could show me that you care, without me changing a Facebook status. 

I wasn’t planning our wedding, I didn’t expect you to be my soul mate. 
But not lying to your friends for four and a half months might have been nice. 

And now I’m sitting here, and 

GODFUCKINGDAMMIT 

Why do I miss you? Even now, looking at this, trying to swallow back the torrent threatening to unleash itself on my keyboard. 

I miss your voice, and the way you’d softly sing along to parts of songs.
I miss watching your face under the light of the rising sun
I miss your eyes
I miss the smell of your cigarettes and the way you play with your hair
I miss your lips on mine

I just fucking miss you.

You blocked your life from me, when I didn’t do anything wrong. You cut me out, when I constantly said at the end of the day, I want to be, and stay, your friend. 

I fucking CARE about you. Even though you don’t deserve it. My heart hasn’t let you go.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this. With any of this.
I can’t go back to what we were – hoping, praying, to be treated like a human being by you for a few hours, even if all I want at times is to fall asleep with the feel of your arms around me.

But you have shown me you can’t handle me, at any level of intimacy.

If I’m being honest, I don’t think I was the problem.

I think you wanted to give me so much, and with the knowledge that you couldn’t, threw it back at me. Attacked me for your misgivings and your own self-deprecation but tried to make it my fault.

“You want things I can’t give you.” 
Over and over and over.

What I actually needed, really, truly needed, was for you to own up to the fact that I was not just your friend.

You wanted me to be your fuck buddy and your lover and your confidant and your girlfriend and your casual acquaintance all in one, without offering me any of those things in return.

I was your go-to, but would you ever have been mine?

Even with all of this shit, I want you to be okay. I want you to thrive, and find successes, and be there when you do. I miss you, I miss your friends, I miss everything about you. I don’t know what I want something between us to look like anymore. But I know I want to be in your life in some way, and I want you to be a part of mine.

And that’s probably too much for you. But, at least I told you. Opened up to you about this in some way.

I have to find a way to forgive you. I’m not quite there yet.

But, this is what I wanted & needed you to hear. For whatever that means to you.