And I didn’t think I cared as deeply as I did
but when you left and I was alone
I realized
I would give you
the moon
if given the chance.
And I don’t think I knew what love was
when I said I loved you
and I don’t think I meant it when I said it,
but I said it anyway
and you said it back
and at the time I didn’t know the implications
that we would matter
that we would be closer
that we would care about each other
and I never felt any of that
but I wanted to
I wanted to feel love
I wanted to know what it meant
to have someone you care about
but you can’t force that kind of love,
it comes on its own
and I want to believe it’s worth the wait
I just want to learn
I want to learn about you.
I want to learn what makes you happy
what makes you sad
what makes you unreasonably angry
what makes you laugh uncontrollably
and I want to learn
about your favorite song
and what makes it so special
and I want to learn
what age you were
when you realized
you felt sad most of the time
and what age you were
when you realized
you weren’t sad like you once were
and I want to learn
what makes you so special
because you are so special
And I remember thinking back on the night you left. And I remember thinking I was glad. But I wasn’t glad, I just didn’t know how to feel so sad. So broken. And the months that followed, I felt sad, and I felt broken, and I made mistakes. I made a lot of mistakes trying to get over what you put me through. And I thought that would be the end of it. And it mostly was, but then I realized I’m a year into this new relationship which started way too soon, and I don’t even like the guy. I don’t know what compelled me to ask him out. Or why I was on Tinder so soon after my last heartbreak. But I was and I didn’t want to be. I tried to end it, and I fell for other people while we dated, and I made more mistakes, but I never felt complete. I didn’t realize at the time and I would come to realize in the year after I left him, but I didn’t need someone else to feel complete. And that’s not something anyone could’ve told me, either. That’s something I had to realize the hard way. After five years of basically back-to-back dating people I barely cared about, and all I really needed was a few close friends. And to care about myself. I didn’t need love. And sure, love is great, and I wouldn’t turn it down were it presented to me now, but there’s more than just romantic love. And I think platonic love is beautiful in its own way. I think friends, true friends, would walk to the ends of the earth for each other. And I think true friends would be there for each other when they needed each other. And maybe it was the guys I was dating, but I never thought they’d do that for me. And my friends, I know they’d do that for me.
Eloquent, but not with you.
I could never tell you how
much you meant to me or
how much I love to see you.
With you, I’m distracted by
your eloquence and the way
you carry yourself like you
matter. And you do, and it
distracts me. I’ve never met
someone who matters like
you do. And I think it scares
me how little you know how
important you are. And you
are so
very
important.
You spoke
and I listened.
I talked, too
but you only heard
what you wanted.
You heard me when
I was disinterested
and when I was upset,
but you didn’t hear
the love I had for you
and all the admiration
I once felt
for you.
And it’s still there
but you never wanted that,
did you?
I fall in love often. It happens suddenly and I’m all in. And it’s not just with people. I fall in love with the way my coffee tastes, I fall in love with the way the air smells in the springtime, I fall in love with the first snowfall of winter. I fell in love once with the way a boy smelled and from then on when I smelled that same smell, I thought of him. And I thought of love. I didn’t even love him, at least not at the time, but that’s a story for another day. I fell in love with the feeling of love. Of admiration. Of romanticizing little mundane parts of my day. I think that’s partly how I got over my depression. I fell in love with constants in my life, like the way the sunrise woke me up every morning, or how the rain sounded inside a car while music played softly, or even my own quirks. That was when I learned to love myself, when I learned to love my quirks. The things that made me, me.
And being a writer throughout all this, I would write about falling in love and it was never about another person. It was falling in love with learning to love. It was falling in love with these little, mundane parts of my life that I knew would never leave. It was falling in love with being genuinely happy for the first time since I was twelve.
Sure, I’d fallen in love with people before. But it never felt as pure as falling in love with the way sitting under a tree and reading feels in the middle of summer. It never felt as hopeful as the first warm day of spring. And maybe I’m just saying this now because of what all my exes put me through, but doesn’t that just prove my point?
That my true happiness doesn’t come from another person, it comes from within me. And for so many years, I put all my self-worth into what my boyfriend thought of me and if we were happy and if I was in a relationship at all. And it was miserable. Life is about finding purpose, it’s about finding happiness through all that it throws at us, and I never felt that in a relationship. I always felt like I was drowning, or that I was fighting with some thing that would never see my way and it was miserable.
So, I took a step back and I thought about what makes me happy. Forests make me happy and the ocean and the way the early morning sun looks illuminating the grass in backyards. And I fell in love with all these little things, these constants that would never hurt me. And I realized I was terrified of being hurt and I thought to myself, “That’s a part of life and I know I’ll have to deal with it, but why? Why can’t I just be happy? Why do we have to feel pain, too?” but I knew the answer, I always knew the answer. It was because I had been hurt so many times that I could understand what it was like to truly be happy. It was because I had felt such brutal heartbreak that I could learn to love these little, mundane parts of life.
And then I fell in love with that fact, too.
When you left
I swear the world caved in
or maybe that was
my heart.
Either way, you left,
I rebuilt myself,
and I’m only getting better.
Every time I think of you
and all you put me through,
I can’t help but smile
that I never have to deal
with you again.
And I don’t think anyone could make me feel as free as when I’m walking down the suburb streets I know so well, mid-summer, the wind at my back, headphones in playing my favorite song.
I don’t think anyone could make me feel the relief of the sudden chill in the air after months of overheating, finally wearing my favorite jacket, going for a walk and seeing mushrooms after it rained.
I don’t think anyone could make me feel as safe as looking out my window in the morning after the first snowfall of winter, the warmth from my blankets contrasting with the cold of the windowsill.
I don’t think anyone could make me feel as hopeful as the first day in spring when it starts to warm up, after months of bundled up, freezing temperatures and I can sit outside and work on this or that.
And I don’t mind. Because the seasons could never remember my favorite color or the way I like my coffee. The seasons couldn’t hold my hand or give me their jacket when I get cold. I fell in love with the seasons, and they come and go and I fall in love with each change, but they could never make me feel as wanted as a text saying, “this made me think of you.”