Dear Six Years Later

I often scare myself with how much I love people. It’s so intense, whether they know it or not, the feelings that take over me. And that’s the way it was with you.

I remember seeing you around and wondering about you. I wanted to know what music you were listening to as you walked the way you did. I wanted to know it all starting from who you were to the things that make you mad.

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I remember when I started to have this opportunity to collide our two worlds. I stressed about what to wear, when most days I usually didn’t care. I spent extra time on my make up and made sure to place a bug in all of your friends ears so you would know.

But high school boys know nothing and I had to take matters into my own hands. I got your number and texted you. I remember our conversation this day and what I was doing. I was making my senior women sign and watching 90210 — I was the definition of basic — and you were driving from Tomball after visiting your Grandpa who was sick at the time. It wasn’t long after that when we started to hang out. What started at a party lead to our first date at Chili’s and more after that. I forced cupcake baking dates on you and probably asked you to do too many lame couple things but I couldn’t help it. I remember laying on your bed over thanksgiving break and wanting to tell you how much I loved you. I didn’t care if it was too soon because people fall in love in a split second, I swear by it. But you said it first and after that, it started something new and even more exciting.

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Fast forward to today and here we are. I am sitting here in my apartment in Austin while you are two hours away living your life. I smile when I think of times like the ones I mentioned above because in those moments, we thought that this was it. We thought forever. We thought – we can make this work. But then I no longer thought that. I began to realize that I never felt like I could need you. We didn’t speak the language of vulnerability, something that struck me to my core.

It has almost been a year since we broke up. Something that has never been lost on me because I think about it every single day. But something interesting is that I have not been able to write about it and I don’t know why. I feel guilty that I don’t write about your angry eyes when I know that they were my favorite thing about you. I feel terrible that I haven’t written poems summing up our inside jokes. But what I am starting to understand is that I write about things when I am ready to close the book on them.

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At this time last year, we were slipping and I knew it. But you didn’t because I was trying effortlessly to make you happy. Being there tirelessly and always when you needed me. A phone call hardly went unanswered and when you needed my help I was there no matter what. But I had to wake up one day and make me happy. But it doesn’t mean I don’t love you. Because I always will. It’s safe to say that I think I can start writing more about you because I know how to now.

 

 

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