Letters to you
III
I still think of you. Not as much as before, but I still do. In random moments of the day, seemingly as I’m thinking of nothing in concrete, you just pop into my mind, like a reminder, a flag in a sea of people screaming ‘I’m here! Follow me!’. And I have to stop myself from entering a spiral of thoughts that will only bring me more harm.
I didn’t do it properly. I know that. It’s embarrassing and shameful of me to have simply stopped typing, stopped reaching out. But I always felt you kinda did it first, with your apparently meaningless texts, ‘just popping up to say hi’ kinda thing, and just stop responding when I engaged in the conversation. How pathetic is that? It made me feel like a puppy hanging on to every text, every moment you deigned me worthy of your time. And I’m not even sure you did it on purpose - hell, I’m almost positive you didn’t - and that is equally as painful, if not more. Cause it means you don’t know me at all. Or that my walls are as unbreachable as I make them be.
And I don’t even know why I do that. I mean I do, but I know I shouldn’t and I thought I was making an effort to push them down a little? To let you get a glimpse of what’s inside. But I guess it wasn’t enough? Did I self sabotage this? Do I make myself so closed off that you lost interest so far away? It’s very possible really. Wouldn’t surprise me in the least. The alternative, or half-the-alternative ( cause I still think this was a major reason), is I was never that special, or different, to you. And that is what breaks me more. Not only cause I thought I knew how to read people a little, that I was so completely wrong, but also because I so desperately, selfishly, needed to feel that, that I mattered more to someone, more than the usual, almost, mandatory way we matter to friends and family. Cause we chose each other. At this moment in time, we chose each other, and I thought that mattered in a different way, a more meaningful way. It talked directly to the always insecure little me that screams ‘you are invisible, unapproachable and unlikeable’.
Gosh. I’m so pathetic.
So I guess I’m still hurt, and a little angry, that you intentionally or not, ended up proving me right. And I can’t even fault you for that, cause the main fault is always mine. For not opening up to you, for not expressing what I felt? For not approaching this in a mature, responsible way, even if you didn’t either, I still think, cause for all the times that I didn’t say anything, you didn’t either. And I guess we’ll never find out, will we, why we didn’t say what we needed when we needed. Hell, I never even knew what you needed, now that I really think of it.
What a mess. And you know what’s the worst part? I don’t even know if I’m just being this dramatic, immature girl, who doesn’t even know her own feelings, and is trying to find meaning in something that perhaps never had any meaning at all. Now, how’s that for ridiculous.
I sincerely hope you’re alright and happy, and not dwelling in unanswerable thoughts like I am, from time to time. I don’t know if I’m dreading to see a pop-up message with your name on it, or secretly wanting to see it... Damn, I don’t understand me, so how can I possibly ask you to? I can’t. I can’t.
I need to get my shit together.