Dear You,

Goodbye. I think it's important to start from the end.

Goodbye properly.

Even though I don't see how we can ever be part of each other's lives again, I don't regret any part of you being there. It's almost impossible for me to write honestly to you/about you because you've put my guard back up. Or maybe I've just run out of feelings.

I love you. At least I think I do. In the simplest way that you love someone. You see them as a whole person. Good and bad and just love them anyway.

I miss you. Not enough to try. Not enough for closure. Not enough to fix what's already broken.

I'm surprised I don't have more to say. I thought when I eventually wrote, it would be soul-filled and pain would be stretched across every line. But maybe that's just my romanticised ideal. It shouldn't be able to end so easily. Love. Relationships.

But it's easy. Too easy. And as much as I loved you being in my life, I like you not being in it more. It took being out of it to realise you weren't really adding anything to it. But do people really do? Maybe you were teaching me to how to give. Give and give and give and never get anything. Because is the point of giving not giving?

But I wish Utopia existed. I wish I could expect nothing. I wish I just wanted to keep giving. But I wanted something in return. I wanted acknowledgement. I wanted you to give too.

I wanted you to give too.

That's what happens when you expect

But no matter how low my expectations went, you always manage to disappoint them. You always managed to make me lower them until they were lowered to nothing. And you still couldn't give me nothing. You still couldn't give me nothing.

Sometimes I'm angry. Not that angry. Angry enough. Sometimes I hate you. But then I hate that I hate you because what I want is to feel nothing towards you.

What I want is for you to tell me all the ways I was wrong. I want to know all the ways I disappointed you. I want my memories of me in me and you to be as flawed as my memories of you are. But more than that, I want to not care. Indifference.

I love you. Now. I miss you. Now. I hate you. A little bit. But eventually, I won't care about you. At all. Not our memories. Not my memories. Not at all.

And you're a rapist

Sometimes you have to walk away. Staying, staying is like being a rapist. You keep insisting that you know that if they gave you a chance, it a chance, it would work. So you stay and you try and you're like a rapist. Because every human being has a right to decide. Their decision doesn't have to match your desire. Two people can see the same situation opposite.

So you stay and you're a rapist.

Everything is a sign. You don't enjoy the moments you have because you're too busy translating it into what you think, romanticizing every hug and laugh, revelling in how right your instincts are. Those are't your instincts, those are your fantasies. So you stay, waiting, hoping, trying.

And you're a rapist.

You think, 'oh if only I tried the right way at the right moment' and a montage of romance plays in your head. Oh, it hasn't happened, because timing is everything and you've missed it. So you stay, and you're a rapist.

Sometimes, you need to walk away.
And you stay, and you're a rapist.

The thing is, I miss him. They don't tell you about the layers of emotion. It's either everything is on or everything is off. But for one feeling, there are a thousand layers. The passage of time strips many of them away, but time also shows you what all the layers are. How do you know that when you strip off lust and obsession, you realise that there was understanding and laughter. When you strip off the hurt and the pain and the drama, you realise that there was a real friendship.

Emotions operate on an all or nothing basis.

I can't give all, but I don't want nothing.

Happy New Year

Happy new year!

I spent most of last year not writing, because I spent most of last year not being honest with myself. It wasn't that I was lying to myself, although I did some of that, I just wasn't willing to open myself up to any truth that involved any deep reflection. I was tired of deep and I needed time to just wallow in shallow (no pun intended).

But not being honest affects me in many ways, mostly in my writing, which I've realised is really important to me.

Good things came out of the year regardless. I've learnt to listen more. Really listen. I'm more patient and as a result, I have better relationships with people. For me, this is huge. I've always been socially awkward and being able to relate to people easier has really helped my life.

In my personal experience, open and honest just doesn't work. Life is not a romcom where everyone ends up at the airport. Sometimes the truth is just too much. It is with this new expectation that I'm going forward. Having no expectations of the truth and just telling it anyway.

Happy new year.