and so it begins

i wonder if the reason i write about you (write to you) is bc deep down inside i hope to one day be able to read this to you.

i wonder what you'd say. what you would think. if you’d think i'd lost my mind- that i was crazy. and that’d be fair enough bc you’d be right.

i know im not crazy about you anymore. but thinking back to aspects of our time together makes me feel crazy. it makes me feel like i shouldn’t be hung up on the situation- on what you said. but a part of me is okay with it bc it means i care. i just wish i knew if you still cared too.

i remember the sunday night after it happened. i started crying at my desk when you responded to my text. i was listening to “intentions” by starfall- the song that will always remind me of you and our time together. a song that i owe all my delusions about you to. a song that gave me hope, that brought me comfort, and a song that part of me wishes i'd shared with you.

i know it's best i didn't.

i broke down as soon as i saw the first letter of your name. i knew it was you. i slowly made my way to the floor. i laid there as the music’s vibration caused the pens on my desk to join me. crying out for you. for a hug. for hope. for relief. for a sign.

for a break.

i dont think i’d ever cried so passionately before. passionately is an odd word to describe it, but i think it captures the essence of the moment. you’d have to be there or to be me to understand it fully i suppose.

i couldn’t stop listening to “take it back” by joon. it quickly became my comfort song. while yes, i did want you to take back what you said, the song is also about wishing that person is okay. and ultimately, that’s all i’ve ever wanted for you.

i cried bc i believed you were broken and im sorry if i misunderstood you. but this apology is to myself. for the tears i cried. the damage to my ear drums. the pounding headache. the puffy eyes. the mental exhaustion.

but it's okay. i'm better now.

reflecting back, i do feel bad for myself. for who I was even a week ago: a girl who cared so deeply about a boy who she believed was broken. a girl who just wanted him to be safe and happy- bc that’s exactly how he made her feel.

12.22.24.

today i am forcing myself not to open instagram because i know if i do i will check to see if you still follow me.

i hyper-fixate on the number of followers i have. not because i care if someone unfollows me; but because i care if you unfollow me.

"you can't be serious."

"whattttttt," i groaned.

"for a girl who's chronically online, you really seem to hate my posts."

i rolled my eyes, "i like this oneeee." i handed him my phone.

"yeah; shirt off, abs out, bicep flexed."

i flopped backwards onto my bed, covering my face, giggling.

he handed me back my phone; the heart now red.

in an act of desperation, i type in your instagram handle.

close one.

sometimes i see us dancing between the stars.  it brings me back to that one fall night  my hand in yours

one two three one two three

your brows burrowed i giggled, “it’s just something i do… my anxiety i suppose.”

you pulled me in closer as a kiss landed on my forehead  your touch soft and earnest

i could’ve sworn i had wished on a shooting star that night  but if i had,

when I think of you now, it’s mostly good- on the surface at least. the memories we hold- that we share- are all in good faith in my head. it’s when i start to deeply analyze you, what you said, what you did… that i begin to question you as a person.

truly, i am becoming what frustrated me most about you. 

but maybe this is what we both needed. your wake up call consisted of books that hyper-analyzed my personality and somehow influenced your conclusion that "we aren't compatible." while hearing this absolutely crushed me, your words served as the best wake up call i could ask for.

as you pulled out your phone from your right front pocket preparing to read the words you had written- the words that you had sat with for some time. words that you decided were the perfect fit to tell me. i bit my tongue, pinched my hand, and stared down at your car floor preparing for impact. preparing for the last two months with the boy i had convinced myself that i would fall in love with to be ripped from my hands in an instant.

"my feelings have changed."

i closed my eyes as the faucet began to leak with no plumber in sight.

"i want you long term." and he bent down and kissed me. "red." "red." and he bent down and kissed me. "long term." "red." and he bent down and kissed me.

"sorry, i think i'm just rambling," he said.

"oh no. sorry. i'm listening." i turned to face him. his phone still in his hand. i opened my mouth to speak, but i couldn't muster the courage to say anything. or, rather, i didn't know what to say at all.

as the silence began, the distance between us grew. i wanted to run. to get out of his car and run into the street or into my car and drive to my home but he was my home but why did i make him my home? and, yet, a part of me wanted him to hold me. to tell me that it was going to be okay. that all of this was just a dream. that he was joking.

"so what changed?"

and so it began: the deepest, most intense feeling of hurt i've ever experienced in my life.

he said that he did a lot of thinking over break. that he spent a lot of time alone with his thoughts. he said he began to have conflicting opinions on our compatibility and that maybe i was too "bubbly" for his more soft-spoken personality. while yes, i may be portrayed as an extrovert, anyone who truly knows me knows i'm an introvert at heart. so maybe he didn't really know me at all.

"i mean you're so smart, and pretty, and well... you're perfect."

and there it was. the summary of my personality. the three words he felt that represented me the best. i was so perfect, and yet he was letting me go.

he then began explaining the books he read. books that consisted of a so called expert writer's analysis of my personality. how absurd is that? how could this man only describe my personality in three words after allegedly reading a book about it?

i nodded. "okay. thanks for being honest."

he nodded and began again, "i'm really sorry. i didn't want to hurt you."

the freshly painted red nail polish i had just applied for our date later that night slowly accumulated on his car floor. "hurt is inevitable."

he looked down. i could tell he didn't know how to respond.

to me, personalities can't be defined by words on a page. they're felt and experienced and can be reflected on, but not confined to paragraphs written by a stranger. a book can only say so much about our compatibility because a book doesn't know either of us.

"i'm really sorry. i just..."

"it's okay, really it is. you can't force connection."

"no it's..."

he began again. but this time revealing to me a new side of him that i hadn't quite seen before. or maybe i had, but never to this level. i mustn't reveal his specific thoughts, so i will keep it brief.

i could tell by the way he spoke about being scared to hurt others, the way in which the words so effortlessly flowed out of his mouth, that he is deeply broken. whether or not he realized that, he knew he couldn't drag me down with him, and i am forever grateful for this realization.

i think he's scared of hurting people, and i think it stems from his experience in previous relationships. going into us, i don't think he realized that he had this sentiment. i think he had fully believed that he was ready to open his heart up to someone new. and in his defense, he did. he told me things he didn't share with his friends. he talked about me with his family. he showed himself to me in ways only certain individuals have the privilege to. and for that, i am eternally grateful.

but hurt is inevitable. it's what you choose to do with that hurt that matters. hurt is a normal part to any relationship. it's a feeling that you must be with okay with accepting because it's how you decide to navigate, grow, and learn from that hurt that will dictate the longevity of your relationship. i don't think he's learned that yet. and that's okay.

a part of me wants to believe that there's no way he didn't think we were compatible. this is something i could write an essay on to be completely honest. the way in which he decided to pick a part my personality felt like the biggest heartbreak i'd ever experienced because what do you mean my personality can only be summarized by words you and a stranger deemed fit? my personality can't be confined to a series of words, and i refuse that to be my reality.

part of me thinks that his books were used as a means to provide me with concrete "evidence" as to why he didn't like me. maybe he thought that if he simply stated that his feelings about me had changed that i wouldn't believe him. but having the books as the evidence provided him something to fall back on if i interrogated his feelings- or lack there of. but i could never question that. you feel what you feel. and maybe he needed something to validate his feelings, and the books are what did it for him. but the fact that he needed to use a book to validate how he truly felt about me- instead of thinking back to how he felt when he was with me- tells me all i need to know about him.

"goodbye; i'll see you next year."

i couldn't bare to look at him. as my hand latched around the car door to open it, my mouth sealed shut. i couldn't even say anything to him. not even goodbye.

and he bent down and kissed me. "your eyes are so beautiful." "red." "but what if they see?" "i want you long term." and he bent down and kissed me. and he bent down. and he kissed me.

this moment felt like an eternity. my movements felt slow. like time had purposefully transformed its seconds into minutes. every memory, every text message, every conversation, every shared experience began flying out of their manila folders and scattered across every section of my brain. i finally got out of his car and began walking to my apartment.

as i shut the front door behind me, i almost turned around, but something stopped me. i don't know if it was embarrassment or shame or doubt. but whatever it was, i'm glad it did. i couldn't let him have more or me than i was willing to offer. which is ironic because just an hour before, i was almost certain i would have given up everything to be with him.