I’ve dyed my hair purple since you’ve last seen me. Not only that, but kinks and curls have now taken over my head whereas before my hair was completely straight. In the past two years since we’ve last spoken, I’ve stopped pretending that I read Hemingway and Bukowski and now relish in millennial authors that actually speak to me.
I stopped taking classes and I’ve stopped writing ten year plans. Two years ago, I swore I had the next decade of my life mapped out, only to find out that life doesn’t go according to plan. I guess the quote ‘we plan and God laughs’ is true after all. Since we’ve last spoken, I don’t talk to any of the same people I used to anymore. I cried about it for a while. I soon realized that a part of growing up meant the inevitably of losing people you used to say ‘I love you’ to.
In the past two years since you last wrote me, I learned that during the metamorphosis stage for a caterpillar, that the insect’s body will actually completely melt into a gooey substance before turning into a butterfly. I tell you this to say, that right now I am going through the melting stage of my life. Some days my brain is a flurry of confusion and other days I try to turn off my thoughts to avoid the realization that there’s a world out there that I’m not participating in.
When I saw your name pop up in my messages after not speaking to you for two years and after only a year ago finally destroying the home I built on my heart for you, I started shaking. You wanted to know how I was doing, and I gave you the reflective “fine” as I always give. But in all honesty I’m doing great.
Even though because of you I’m still scared of the idea that no one will ever love me the way I love them, I’ve stopped falling for men who won’t catch me. I don’t look for validation in empty words spoken by men who will only eventually leave me. Two years ago if you would’ve sent me this same message, I would’ve saved it and spent months reading and dissecting it until I successfully manipulated it into something that it wasn’t.
Today, immediately after we were done speaking, I deleted your message. I almost found myself being drawn in by the seductive pull of nostalgia only to remember how loving you almost killed the light that resided inside of me. I refuse to go back to the person I was when you were around. The person who fantasized of swallowing poison just to escape the reality of you not loving me. Two years and several tears later, and I’m doing something that I thought I’d never do, which is move on without you.
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