A Letter

 you fucked me up.

it took me months to get over it. to function in some type of normal way. to stop incessantly having dreams about you. I still do that, sporadically. More so now. I don’t know what it is about you, or why I continually feel the way I do. I got over it, and then you appear again, and all those feelings come rushing back. You shoot me to the fucking moon. but then you go away, and you don’t say anything. and I think otherwise, and I retreat. and then I hear from you, and you say things like “I miss you.” And I stop, and I freeze, and my body and my mind and my soul get heavy.

Like that one night I wasn’t at the party and Tyler told me that you said you missed me. And I texted you, and you told me not to come over. I was already out of Tyler’s apartment about to run. I wanted to run. I wanted to see you. I was willing to run from there to you just to have you in my arms. But you fell asleep, and I stopped running. All I could do was scream and call you a “fucktard”, because all I wanted was to see you again. And I knew I wasn’t going to for a long while.

And then the other night happened. It took me everything in my power to say “no”, but in the end I caved. I caved so hard because it’s you. And you said so many things I only dreamed about. All I can wonder is if it’s because you’re so inebriated. I wish what you say drunk is what you mean sober. Because I’m right here. I’ve been here. The fact that I’d drop everything and come running at any time if you’d say so says more about how fucked up I am than anything remotely about you. And for the longest time I thought it was lust. I thought I was just crushing. But it’s been a long time now. I still feel the way I do about you as when we were together that first time. I can still feel your fingertips. I can still smell that scent you wear. But perhaps I’m just insane. Maybe clingy. I don’t know. Maybe it’s love. Maybe it’s a momentary lapse of judgement.

But we seem to have moments–mainly drunk moments. Moments I wish would last greater than the span of a few hours. Call me greedy. But you said you felt safe. You said you missed it. The fact is you could have it always. But I know that’s not to happen. I know reality. I know it’ll keep us apart until the next moment comes. Whenever that will be. I wish things could be different. I wish you could be in my arms more. I wish I could feel safe too. I wish I could kiss you all over and watch television and drink tea with you. Like in my dreams.

For months I thought I just wasn’t good enough. I accept this fact. And I thought you just didn’t feel the same way. But then you say things like you have. And you’ve confused the fuck out of me. Constantly. And I have no reason but to think you do feel the same way. Yet it’s hidden. And all I have is speculation. Speculation that is purely specious. Perhaps it’s a matter of keeping up with the Joneses. Maybe you were severely hurt once before, and because of it you’re so scared to feel something. Going into these fake, shallow relationships is all you can do so you don’t truly have to feel anything. The first instance of a real emotion scares the shit out of you, and you hide. And you pretend. And you drink yourself to death every moment you have because you realize the life you live is so plastic and unfulfilling that being drunk gives you moments of hope and happiness. That things can be different. And that’s the only thing I can think of because if it weren’t true, that if you felt fulfilled, you wouldn’t have been with me that night. You wouldn’t party like there’s no tomorrow.

But I’m here. I have been here. I am here. And I am not going anywhere. I haven’t gone. And time and time again we somehow find our way back to one another. I love our moments, but they’re moments. They’re as unfulfilling for me as life is for you. I want more. I don’t need you. I want you. There’s this desire in me that I cannot get rid of. There’s you and your stupid face that sends me doing barrelrolls whenever I think of it. But I’m here. And I know you won’t respond. I know you won’t answer. And I know I’m probably wrong in everything I’ve said and that our moments will stay moments. Why should anything change? Why? But I am here; a rock. What you called “feeling safe.” You want it. You can have it. I’ll drop everything because I’m fucking stupid. I am stupidly madly–you knock me through the galaxy until I feel nothing left but stillness. And you never did answer back to my first question, and it’s still out there. Should I stay and fight or should I just walk away. But whenever I keep walking away, you pull me back in.

I want to walk away. And I will until the next time. The next time you pet my hair and tell me so many things that make me long for something more. Again. You keep fucking me up. And I keep letting you. I will keep letting you.

I wish you could read this. I wish things could be different.