When the world ends I want to scream into the chaos that I loved you more than anything in the hopes that the sound will echo & continue to exist after everything else stops.
you made me promise i wouldn’t write about you, so i haven’t. i don’t know why. i don’t owe you anything.
i turn 30 on july 1st.
i haven’t heard from you in over a year. which is kind of nice, if i’m being honest. in that time i think a lot of things changed for me. a lot of things got sharper. for a while i was so utterly broken that i made my therapist cry while i was talking to her. that felt bad. (sorry kate).
i almost made my instagram public again, but then had to pause. would i only be doing that so that there was a chance you’d see me? so we’d cross paths and start talking? the other day someone said “i heard from your ex” and my heart dropped. like i’d been slapped. for some reason, i felt something almost like fear, which doesn’t make any sense. i guess my body heard what happened and said: oh, this person hurt me so badly it literally rewrote my life story.
i think you were probably right, and this wasn’t a good relationship. there’s still strange things i miss doing. i miss playing board games with you. i miss the particular smell of your room. i miss the weight of your leg over my hipbone, your very-slight snore. all of this is still massively less than i used to miss. i miss you gently, almost ambivalently. recently my adhd did a cool trick - i got bored of thinking about it. i used to think i’d never be bored of it. that i could never actually escape it.
it’s just that i was supposed to be different at 30. i was gonna be engaged and happy. i was going to be drinking on a rooftop with you. i was going to be coming home early from the party so i could crawl into bed with you. i was going to be looking for a house for us. i think i miss how easy that future would have been - which means, on occasion, i am missing the idea of you.
i am okay. i hope you’re okay too, honestly. i’ve never wanted you to be hurting. you once told me that i’d be too furious with you to ever talk to you again. here’s the thing - i am not like you. even after you left me, i was never actually… angry. it just is something that happened, and it hurt, and it’s over now, and that’s… okay. sometimes it’s actually even better.
it’s just that… i don’t know. recently i was having lunch with a friend and she asked me so you still don’t believe in love? and i looked at her and bit my lip. i thought about the rooftop i had imagined and the gift list i compiled with all your favorite things on it. i thought about how i got a new phone right after we broke up just so i wouldn’t be tempted to go through photos. i bought myself a couch for my birthday - and it reminded me of you. how horrible; that i can’t do anything anymore, not without your shadow somewhere.
here’s the thing - i know you’re not thinking about me as much. you got to pick up and leave. close the door. enough was enough.
i told my friend depends on the day. i think i believe in community and art and passion and friendship more than i ever have. i think i believe in singing at the top of your lungs and running flat-out and dancing in public. i once told my high school best friend that i didn’t expect to make it to 30. i thought i would die far before then, miserable, unhappy. i was doing badly; i assumed all forms of survival had to be indelicate. rough.
i remember because of the melodrama of my teenage spirit. i told him unironically - creatures like me will never find love.
i turn 30 on july 1st. i want to laugh about that moment. but 30 is approaching. and i can’t run fast enough.
