One last Goodbye

Yes, I remember. I haven’t remembered it for so many years, but today I did. I remember those warm hugs, the soft kisses, the cheesy love letters and the days when I still notice the beats my heart made. Yes, they all started to creep.

I was myself. It was a feeling that seems alien and familiar at the same time. It’s like a long-lost friend that I find difficult to approach because I don’t know if that weirdness is still mine.

I wanted to be alone, but I wanted someone to be alone with. I wanted to be alone with you in the quiet, whether be it in a gallery full of paintings or the empty streets on a Weekend.

Then I started to notice. I started to notice the little things we have in common, the little string that still tie us comforts me, that in this world where they find me awkward there was once a person like you who likes the same things as me.

I still love you. No, it’s not a confession but a realization that despite of letting go, that because of hatred, I tried to forget but kept that feeling well hidden for years just to discover that the cold container where I had it sealed had its locks so worn that it was torn open.

I miss you. Three simple words I find difficult to utter, words I’ve replaced with absurdity and questions so I can keep you from ending the conversation.

It still hurts… and it hurts to the point of numbness. The numbness I had to fight before it takes over what I have to say… before it locks down the same feeling that was imprisoned just to be awakened again after a decade.

I was delusional for a moment, because I thought that you might’ve kept it too. That once you find out I was waiting, that you’ll eventually come to my rescue.

But it was the only way, so I retraced the path when you used to walk me home, as I tug on the sleeves of your shirt it was a feeling like I was home. I bought the perfume I used to wear, I never really liked it, nor am I sure if you did. But it was something I know you would notice if I ever ran into you again.

I’m sorry. For making you feel guilty, for making you feel like you were not enough. I’m not even sure if you mean it, or if you just want me to think that because you’ve hurt me then you just deserve that much.

I want you to be happy. I always mean it whenever I tell you this. That someday you’ll find someone who can love as much as you do. I could’ve been that person now but the both of us will never come true, I know it might’ve been over for you, knowing that it has been years, but it’s a reality I just started to accept.

I have always been selfish. Yes. I have. I always find ways to defend the things that made you feel unloved. That your attention was not enough. I can never blame you if you fell out of love, I just want to bring that to the table just to clear any doubts.

Good Bye. I don’t have the courage to tell you all of this. I can only make sure I’ll disappear. So in the end, I remain a coward leaving this message where you’re the only one who will see it, hoping to God you’ll be able to read it.

Yes I remember… I was myself and wanted to be alone. Then I started to notice, I still love you, I miss you and it still hurts. I was delusional for a moment but it was the only way. I’m sorry, I want you to be happy because I have always been selfish. Good Bye to the one that got away...