(this began as a free write to sort of my feelings after a particularly cathartic moment for me. it snowballed into an open letter that I just emailed before I totally lost my nerve. now I’m all in my feelings.)
This is what I know.
I want a love of my own.
Someone who wants me and no one else.
I love you.
You love me.
You are a good person.
You make me laugh.
I know your heart. It is good.
You’ve never judged me.
Never been cruel.
Never purposely caused me pain.
But you are not for me.
You don’t want me like I want you.
I was over you once.
I had gotten you out of my system for almost an entire year.
But you reached out.
And I was lonely.
And you and I are so good cocooned from the world.
In the basement with your shows.
In the kitchen with our banter and conversation.
And the sex.
It is great. For a little while it wasn’t. For me.
But it’s back again.
So this is what I know.
I love your lips and hands on me.
I love touching you, feeling you, hearing you.
And then when you lost your dad, and you asked for my help?
My heart opened up so wide for you.
The “I miss you” texts.
More moments spent wrapped up in you.
Anything to have a little more time.
One more moment.
But it isn’t enough.
You’re good at making me feel special.
But you are good at that with everyone.
Every woman you let into your space, your bed, your mouth…
She feels exactly the same way I do.
If today will be the day that you make her yours.
She wonders if you’ll finally choose her..
But you won’t.
And that uncertainty, that fear of not knowing, is so much more hurtful than any harsh words you could ever speak.
Which you never will, because you’re such a sweetheart.
I used to be JUST LIKE YOU.
Every man I spent time with felt that he was chosen, special.
I mean, they were special IN THAT MOMENT.
And I was selfish.
Even though I was good.
Even though I made them smile.
And cooked them meals and rubbed their backs and opened my legs.
Even though I wrote them poems and shared my bed.
Even when I told them I loved them.
This is not what I think.
This is what I KNOW.
Love does not live in the moment.
Love does not survive sealed off from the world.
Love is not celebrated in tiny moments broken off with this person and that one.
Love is big.
Love is true.
Love is the total.
Love. Is. Everything.
Love is more than great sex and years, literal YEARS, of my precious life… allowing myself to believe “if I did just one more thing maybe he’d love me beyond this moment.”
I said I wouldn’t cry.
That I had no more tears for heartbreak.
But tonight I cried.
I was angry with myself.
But I forgive me.
Even in my anger, I have compassion for this tenacious heart of mine.
I know her intricacies.
She means well.
It is but a human heart.
A little bruised, but good.
And this is still what I know.
I love you.
But in this moment.
I love me more.
I have to.
I’ll never get to the love I deserve if I’m always waiting for the next moment with you.
When it comes to love, I want everything.