An open letter to the guy who broke my heart
Honestly, I'm glad we aren't even friends anymore
I've been writing you letters I'll never let anyone see since September. I told you about them once when I was drunk. I write to you when I know I can't talk to you. It helps me cope. Keeping the words inside makes everything harder. Bits of those letters have made their way into this one.
I liked it better when I forgot what it felt like to love someone. It's been so long since I met someone who could keep my attention the way you have. Caring for you is joy and calmness and disappointment and anguish all at the same time, and I hate it. It's more those last two now anyway.
You see, your caring is superficial. You said so many empty words because you liked the attention I gave you. I'm still not sure why you bothered to get to know me so well, aside from the one-time admission you did have feelings for me, but you didn't want to see if it could work out with us.
I think about you more than I'd like to, but I won't say your name anymore. You exist only as your initials. You're the monster in my closet at night, and monsters don't deserve real names.
Do you hear the songs I showed you, go places downtown, or see things we've talked about and hear my name in the back of your mind? Or is that just something that happens to me everywhere I go?
I can't bring myself to delete the pictures I have of us or the videos of you doing stupid stuff at work. I wonder if you still have the ones you took. It might have just been one, but I still wonder.
Until recently, I wouldn't wear the shirt I wore the day you met my mom. I still won't wear the sweater from the night you kissed me and we slept curled up together in your apartment. I haven't even washed it yet. It sits at the bottom of a pile of dirty clothes waiting for laundry day in my bathroom.
It might not sound like it, but I'm slowly taking back the hold you have on me. You're done influencing whether or not I'm okay.
The truth is, I'm so much happier without you constantly manipulating my perception of reality. I'll be okay whether we're close or not. I'll be okay whether we're friends or not. I'll think about you either way, but I'll be okay regardless. I'm probably better with the "or not."
I genuinely hope you're happy. I hope the girl you've ricocheted to learns to calm you down and to encourage you when you're stressed and struggling to focus. I hope she asks you about your dream job and helps you learn to treat it as a goal instead of some unattainable thing you can never grasp. I hope these things, not because I'm not around to do them anymore (although I'm not), but because I want you to have someone who doesn't think twice about those things. You don't exactly deserve it, but I want you to have someone who genuinely can't help but to do it at all.
Hopefully, you'll treat her better. It looks like you were actually able to make a commitment to her already though, so I guess you're already doing that.
I've finally reached the point where I'm not going to reach out to you anymore. It doesn't mean I'll stop thinking about you; I won't. I'll likely keep writing about you, too. I've done it over and over and over again already, and that doesn't even touch the poetry that's too short to publish here or that I've submitted for class instead.
But a year from now, we won't even know each other anymore. I won't think of you every five seconds, and you'll forget I ever existed. That thought won't always break my heart.