A Letter To You

This is a letter to you, but it's mostly a letter to old you, which is why I told you not to read it. I'm hoping that you listen, and that if you ever do read it, it will be because the time is right for you to read it. (If it's within a month after you told me you wouldn't, GO AWAY.) Mostly, I just have to get these thoughts out somewhere they won't just be saved in a hard drive.

I miss you. I made the mistake of reading our old conversations and I want to reach back in time and tell you, I miss you. Tell you that I love you. Tell you that I made the wrong choice every time I made the choice that wasn't you, and tell you that by the time I was ready to make the choice of you, it wasn't something you wanted anymore. I don't know if that you, my you, would even believe me. He was so convinced that his feelings would never fade. He was scared, but he was happy. But he didn't know me--not all of me. He didn't know that I would ruin it all beyond repair, in the end.

At one point, I told you, "I'm sorry, but I'm never going to make the choice that's right. I'm going to make the choice that's easy." The choice that's comfortable.      I wish I could go back and kick my old self in the shin really hard, because I regret that choice so much.

I think maybe, you used to think of me when you listened to Flashlight. Well, I think of you when I listen to Tattooed Tears, and I have for a long time, since the last time we had feelings for each other in July of 2015. I think of you when I hear the line, "I'm gonna have to learn, that this love will never be convenient."

The you I have now, who is a good you, but not as good as the old you, gives lots of conditionals about hanging out. Seems to view it as a chore more than something to be excited about. Can't talk to me about emotional shit, and claims it's just because he doesn't feel things that deeply or have anything to say about things. The you I have now doesn't want to listen to my stupid stories, doesn't laugh at my stupid jokes, doesn't perform random acts of kindness that are simple but just happen to be perfect for me.

The you I miss more than I can describe, the you I still love--that you got anxious when we missed hanging out. That you talked to me extensively about anything and everything. Always more than a short word or sentence in response. That you read my entire blog, watched a ridiculous amount of videos that were just me derping around with high school and freshman year friends, that you cherished every new detail. That you left an envelope with three pogs and a fork in my mailbox, and bought me a styrofoam head for my birthday.

I've been having those moments lately of "How the hell did we go from there to here?" (How did I get here? Where the hell am I?) I wish I could pinpoint the exact moment where things became beyond repair, so that I could go back and fix it. So that maybe I could still have old you with me. But I... I really fucked things up, didn't I? It's not like I can blame you for changing. I'm shocked you're even still my best friend.

There are so many reasons why I thought we couldn't work, but I think all of our problems stemmed from doubting each other's love. You thought I didn't care about you, and I thought you didn't care about me, and somewhere along the line, we stopped trusting each other fully and completely and recklessly. And when that trust was lost, everything was sort of lost. But I think if that love was there, everything would sort of fall into place. It could be as easy as breathing, like it was meant to be so long ago. Like it would have been if I met you first. Of course, though, "if that love was there" is that huge, impossible conditional.

Hey. I know you're not the same you now, and I know I can't get that old you back. So don't worry. And I love you. You're my best friend. But I know it's not like that with us.
But I just, I've been feeling a lot of things for that you that I used to know. And I wanted to tell him I miss him. And I love him so, so much. I wanted to tell him goodbye.

I'm going to be okay. Someday, I'm going to find someone who loves me as much as you used to. Someday, I'm going to find someone who doesn't make me question my self-worth. Maybe someday, I can really find someone who values me as much as I value them, and continues to do that for the rest of our lives. That's my hope for the future. For now, being alone is good. I get better at it all the time. I'm going to be okay. And thank you.