I wish I could randomly turn up on your doorstep for cuddles and kisses like in the movies.
But this is a different type of love story.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do."
"And it hurts so much to want something you can’t have."
I’ve thought of so many things I can say, I want to say, I might say. I’ve looked at it at different angles, I’ve tried to see it through your perspective, I’ve seen it through mine and its just so many thoughts. I feel like this is one of my biggest tests of patience and for you I’m doing my best. I feel like a puppy waiting for its owner who’s abandoned him and moved away. I feel like I’ve been put in time out. I feel hurt and confused and scared but idk why I’m scared anymore when my biggest fear has already become my reality. I’m way past being scared, I’m petrified. I’m tired. I miss you. The only person I ever turned to was you, now you’ve turned me away, and I’m trying to figure out where the fuck I’m going and where you’re going and while I’m trying to figure this out I’m hoping that we’ll meet in the middle somewhere but I’m hoping it won’t be too long from now. I’m looking to the stars to guide me and I’m not sure if yours and mine are aligned. I look to the moon and hope that wherever you are you’re looking up at it too. I need you in my life. I can’t say I won’t care that if it’s just as friends but I guess I kind of don’t care cause in whatever way I just know that I need you in it some way some how. I’m trying so hard to fight every urge in my fucking body to just give you some space but I mean what can I say, I feel really fucking empty right now that you’re not here. The desire to hear your voice is killing me. I can go on forever about this and about you but I guess all you really need to know is that I love you and I need you to be in my life.
You don’t know what this is doing to me. Little by little its getting harder and harder. I feel defeated. You’re fine and out on your own and I’m still confused with the thought of us and how the fuck we got to this point. You were everything. My love my best friend, and now I’m going crazy cause you’re nowhere to be found. What happened. I told you my tongue is sharp when I’m angrier and I’m sorry. I never meant for things to get this way. I never wanted to loose you. Now look at me, I’m pouring my heart out for people to see, because I’m careless, I’m hurt, I’m angry, and because I miss you and no one understands that. People keep telling me how to feel and overtime it makes me angrier. I’ve turned to a computer screen to talk about it because I know he can’t talk back to me. I miss you so much. I’m sorry.