We don't even talk anymore
and somehow you're still the first person I speak to.
In every moment that matters.
In every joke I almost send.
In every song that finds a part of me I didn't know was still bleeding.
And that's the part I'm embarrassed to admit.
I've never been ashamed of that.
I'm embarrassed by how much of me is still yours.
How every day feels like an exercise in restraint.
How many times I stop myself from reaching out.
How many messages get written and deleted.
How many times something beautiful happens and my first thought is still,
*"I can't wait to tell you."*
I don't get to tell you anymore.
I miss having someone who made me want to share the world.
Because that's what you did.
You made ordinary things feel worth talking about.
You made random Wednesdays feel important.
You made me excited to exist inside my own life because I couldn't wait to tell you about it.
And I know how pathetic that sounds.
But if this is the last thing you ever hear from me, then let me at least be honest.
I've tried to be logical.
I've tried to tell myself that two months shouldn't have this kind of hold over me.
I've tried to convince myself that if I just waited long enough, eventually I'd wake up and you'd be a memory instead of a presence.
In the spaces between conversations.
In the version of my future I still haven't completely buried.
Maybe I've built too much meaning around what we were.
But I can't sit here and pretend it isn't true.
Because the truth is that I still carry you.
I carry the sound of your laugh.
The things you trusted me enough to tell me.
The things you never said out loud.
The version of you that the rest of the world doesn't always get to see.
And I think the reason this hurts so much is because I never just loved the version of you that was easy.
I loved the complicated parts.
The parts that thought they were too much.
The parts that thought they weren't enough.
And I know you don't see yourself the way I see you.
I wish you could see the woman I see.
The one who survived things that should have broken her.
The one who keeps going even when she's exhausted.
The one who is so much more lovable than she will ever allow herself to believe.
And maybe that's why I can't let go.
Not because I think you're perfect.
Not because I think love is supposed to conquer everything.
But because loving you felt like recognizing someone.
Like finding a familiar song I somehow already knew the words to.
Like meeting someone who felt less like a stranger and more like a memory.
So when people tell me to move on, I understand why.
What they don't understand is that I'm not trying to let go of a relationship.
I'm trying to let go of someone who feels woven into the fabric of who I became after I met her.
And I don't know how to do that yet.
Maybe one day you'll just be a chapter.
Maybe one day this ache won't follow me around anymore.
But today isn't that day.
Today the truth is still simple.
I hear a new song and I think of you.
I have a good day and I think of you.
I look up at the moon and I think of you.
I catch myself smiling and wonder if you'd smile too.
And in the quietest moments, when there is nobody left to impress and nowhere left to hide...
Not in a way that asks you to save me.
Not in a way that asks you to come back.
Not in a way that asks you to be anything other than who you are.
Just in the way a heart sometimes refuses to forget.
And if this is the last thing you ever hear from me...
then let it be the truth.
A part of me is still yours.
And I don't know when that stops being true.
jacobvanloon
theartofmadeline
jbbartram-illu
tangentwithtanner
kaledo-art
andulkaphoto