Honestly, I was happy. What a funny word, honestly. As if something as flimsy as human consciousness could ever produce an absolute truth. But I was happy, is what my flimsy mind is telling me. I was happy, so happy, when it started. It was like here, you are loved you deserve love. Look at this person who you made an impression on who is back now and look how excited he is to see you. Look at what you can do for him, look, you are good. You can be loved and love back. You have that ability, in your pouch of talents. The way you looked at me could shake the earth. The way it felt like a finally, a sigh of relief, of homecoming, the way you held me. It felt like that to me and I believed it felt like that for you as well. Holy high hells it was good. It was the pure excitement of wanting another person, me to you you to me is together. It felt, pardon my French, honest.
But I fucked up in a lot of ways. Big ways, small ways, in between sizes of mistakes. Somehow, somewhere, you didn't get out of the car to greet me anymore. I reached, you reacted but not so often anymore anything else. It felt lonely. I know why. I didn't help anything, especially with the big mistakes. Distance grew. Between us, when we were once skin to skin, lay all of these things that weren't us. Will she, will he, why won't she just. Why can't she just. Why isn't he. It all built up to put a wall, or a sea, or I don't know, some sort of barrier between us that stopped it from being what it once was. All of the expectations constantly being let down. All of the feelings so sensitive and raw, bristling at any touch. All of the things that weren't us. Because when it was just us, in your car, talking... It was as it was meant to be. Good. But even then, things -and bad things at that- , crept up and settled between us and they never left, I think. They just grew stronger. So strong the wall or the ocean or whatever dumb metaphor became almost physical. I could touch it as easily as hold your hand. It was there. That close. Real.
After having time to think, being stuck in my own head and locking myself in a room for three days now, this is probably for the best. Because the best wasn't us. We weren't that for each other. But how I wished and wanted and worked for us to be. I didn't give things up, not really. I just always felt that whatever it was I wanted, you were more. You were just more. More important, more valuable, more.
So many mistakes, but I always tried to fix them in the end. I'm a growing girl, so I didn't always get it right the first time. But I did eventually. Or tried to. And I'm proud of myself for that. Some shitty consolation prize for being alone now, I guess. We always tried to fix it. The understanding that we are different people, and the understanding I have now that we were fundamentally different people. We don't get the fantasies in our head of how things should go when we're with someone because we don't get to control someone else. How I think you should react is never more important than how you actually do. I tried to see what you thought and react how I could but I guess trying wasn't enough. From your end, I think you did the same. We both did, but it was just not enough everytime to stop the wall or the ocean from growing thicker and taller or deeper or vaster. And now it's so much we have a country between us. Me in my room, you in yours. We tried until you didn't anymore.
One day I will have a happiness just as real, so real I can touch it. One day I will have the safety from anxiety that assured love brings. One day I will have someone who can't stand the thought of not eating breakfast with me every morning. One day I will be looked at like I'm the only thing that matters. One day someone will be so excited to see me, everytime they see me, that they can't stand to have the steps between us take as long as they would for me to walk and they will cross the distance and meet me half way. One day I will have someone excited to hold me and feel excited everytime. One day I will have some one who says fuck it, I love you. One day. Not today.
Today I'm still not okay. Today I'm still in this room. Today I'm still trying to accept that that person won't be you.