Truth is... in What I shouldn't feel

Dear You,

The really fucked up thing is that I don’t want you back. I don’t want to be with you.

I love my husband. I wouldn’t have married him otherwise.

And that’s the fucked up thing about it all, I don’t want you, but I also don’t want you to have anyone else.

I want you to still love me. I want you in my life. But I want you to stay exactly as you are in my head:

In love with me and alone.

I love my husband, he is a wonderful, sweet, kind man. He makes me happy.

I think maybe he and I are two broken pieces of different puzzles. But we make it work, and we are good for each other.

I don’t think we were made for each other. I think we were made for different people.

He was made for her. I know he still thinks of her, probably the same way I think of you. Probably not as often, he has less reminders of her here. He’s not likely to run into her at the local shops.

But I know he still looks her up. I’ve seen it on his phone. When I first saw it it was like a white hot knife of pain in my chest.

But it’s ok. We’re ok. I never mentioned it to him. But I know.

I think he was made for her like I was made for you. But just like us, it was toxic. It couldn’t last.

But the heart doesn’t know what’s poison and what’s not.

In a limitless world, we would be together and it would be all the chaotic goodness it always was. We could build and destroy mountains in a day, with your storm clouds and my thunder.

I wrote about it before, in a diary long since shredded for fear of reading over my own pain.

Remember when we fucked about? After we broke up, New Years. You kissed me in the street and I thought of new beginnings with you.

But you didn’t want new beginnings with me. I think maybe I was just that familiar feel good for you.

I remember how mad you got when I said you cheated (which you did.) Storming off, I found you (or you found me.) We sat in the road and you told me

“It’s you. It’s always been you.”

But I can’t believe a word of it. Sometimes I wonder if it was ever me to begin with.

You broke my heart and then played with the pieces.

I met my husband that summer. He has helped heal so much of my sorrow.

But during that time, I wrote in a diary how I’ve always felt connected to you. Like a string running from me to you. However far apart we are, there’s always this link between us. Like, however it may be, we are connected.

We are meant to be in each other’s lives.

I know this all makes me sound awful. Maybe that’s just because I am.

But I think it’s more that hearts don’t feel in basic colour, we have shades and variants, grades and hues of emotions.

I’m just trying to say this honestly. Because I’ve spent so many years pretending it’s not real.

I wish we could have an honest conversation again. Just once. I need to tell you so many things. I need you to know so much. I want to share with you in that intimate way that people who have known each other for most of their lives share things.

But, we aren’t those people anymore are we? The boy I loved is now a man I don’t know. So many years have gone by a part of me is frightened you’re a completely different person.

I guess I miss the best friend I had in you. That safety in knowing that whatever happened, you’d still be there. That I could turn up at your door and you’d let me in.

I don’t know if that’s true anymore. I really hope it is.

To be honest, I just really need to know that it’s still true. That however long it is, I can still trust that you’ve got me.

Care for me, Please.

I wish I could just text you. You still have the same number, whatsapp so kindly let me know. You have the same fucking number. Fuck.

I want to reach out, but what the fuck do you even say in situations like this?

Hi, remember me? We were engaged for 7 years and then you broke my heart. Now I’m married with kids and my husband would hate me texting you right now. But it just seems like I’m seeing you around everwhere lately. I just wanted to know if you’re ok? You’re ok right? It’s been years and maybe it’s just the sleep deprivation talking, but I miss laughing with you. Got any jokes?

Yeah, right.

It’d end up in me being bitter and mean. It always would I guess.

I wish I wasn’t so angry about it all. I wish I could let the peace settle.

Maybe it just hurt too much to forget.

But how the hell do I forgive you AND forget you?

I wish I could ask you what I should do.