Letters to My Lover #3

Poems & prose about love, loss, and heartbreak.

Photo by Lonely Girl, Lonely World.

The things I never told you.

Dear _,

I’ve spilled my guts, and still I’m left to bleed. Too many questions, too many what-if’s. And even after opening Pandora’s box, you couldn’t give me a yes or no. I’ll say it again: all or nothing. I wanted to give you my All, but you couldn’t meet my Everything.

I admit after we parted, I looked you up, as we do. You made it easy, a public timeline. I saw your childhood, your school, your past relationships. I saw your dancing, and the part an ex played in it.

And I felt sad. A deep Sadness that I never got to witness that: a You that trained, a You that danced, a You in youth before the world broke your heart. Even the You whose heart was already breaking. I wanted to be there, to know all of You (though I can’t guarantee I would’ve been any wiser).

Now you have left it all behind and moved on to a new chapter of your life. I see it in your photos; the innocence left your eyes. That bright look of untainted promise replaced by roaming strife.

And I grieve. I grieve for the You I never knew. I grieve for that Lost Boy. I thought if I couldn’t be part of your past, at least let me be part of your future.

Remember that week we met? Time-space expanded. A day felt infinite. I observed you out of the corner of my eye, thinking you were a surprise. The more I observed, the more a strange seed planted itself in my heart.

We started off well and then dipped into silence, wrong sides of two magnets. You seemed to avoid me too, though you say you weren’t. If I seemed awkward or aloof, I was only shy. If I didn’t respond to a remark, I was only more shy. Nothing coherent could’ve formed when I was thinking, “You look sexy in that shirt.”

Instead you made good friends with someone else, and I found myself on the brink of jealousy. Even when our sparks flew, you told her things you never told me. But I wouldn’t let my jealousy take over; I refused. If we were not speaking, then I would throw myself into my dance. Imagine my wonder when I made good friends with her; imagine my relief when I learned she was taken; imagine my surprise when my dancing drew you to me.

One night I visited her room — girl talk, if you will. She asked what my ideal partner is. I said they must love something other than me; I cannot be their number one (survivors of abuse will understand). I said ideally they’d also be in the creative arts, maybe a photographer or filmmaker, something with movement… I trailed off, realizing my head was full of you. That strange seed wriggled, how you seemed to fit everything I wanted and beyond. An invisible checklist I didn’t even know I had. (Though I would kick myself for thinking of you and saying I didn’t want to be their number one.)

Don’t get me wrong. I knew what I wanted before You. But you were a wonder; I only wanted to support you. Sometimes there’s too much jealousy with partners, too much competition. But you, I admired You and could love you without envy.

I’ve never believed in “types.” No one knows who they’re going to fall for. So when I wished for a gentle one to stroke my scars, I didn’t try to imagine what they’d look like. And when, after parting, I realized it was you, I thanked my lucky stars for our collision.

There are more things I haven’t told you, like how I also felt the magnetism you speak of when we kissed. I enjoyed kissing you too. Like how your lips are so luscious they could swallow me whole. Like how I opened my eyes and was surprised to find you staring back at me, eyes crinkling into a smile. Like how you took a while to change, but I didn’t mind at all, and when you came out I thought you looked so sexy. Like how I wanted to sit with you when you were alone but couldn’t leave my friend hanging. Like how I wanted to wait for you when we went swimming but was nervous of being teased. Like how I went back to the pool a second time because you invited me. Like how I didn’t want to leave the sauna because you were still in there (and maybe you didn’t want to leave for the same reason). Like how my heart trilled in delight when you joked with me on the beach. Like how you taught me to respect myself when you refused to let me fetch your clothing. Like how on our unfinished hike, I walked away briefly to ask them to save us dinner if we came back late. Like how I was dying to hold your hand on our walk and felt so relieved when we did. Like how I loved our secret kiss on the beaten path. Like how I learned the sound of your sigh in contentment. Like how I actually did have some doubts but was willing to see it through. Like how affectionate it was when you tickled my foot and didn’t care if others saw. Like how, in those days, we were children together. Like how easily you handed me your phone — how you fought to hand me your phone over others. Like how comfortably you accessed my phone. Like when you booped me on the head when I wasn’t looking. Like when you said, “Where should I go? I’ll go where there’s space” and I subtly scooted over on my spot. Like my inner joy when I looked back and saw you’d really chosen my spot. Like when I cried into your shoulder, I thought you shifted to let go but actually drew me in tighter, tighter. Like how I wished that moment could last forever. Like how I wished We could last forever. Like how I felt beautiful by your touch, and I felt beautiful for weeks afterward. By you loving me, I loved me. Like how I wanted to dance with you, literally and figuratively, through life. Like how I wanted to tell you dance is also my first love. Like how I learned you have a poet’s soul when you read your words out loud. Like how I wanted to travel with you and thought you were serious when you said, “Let me know when you go…” Like when you said you wanted to heal and love yourself more than someone else, I wanted to say, That’s what I think too! Like how my heart warmed when you called me adorable. Like how I felt an instant intrigue the moment I laid eyes on you. Like how I just wanted to talk to you.

I have an infinite number of things to tell you and no one to tell them to.

Loving you was a process. I did not fall right away. But one distinct moment stands out: when you happened upon my window on our last evening of dance, Romeo to my Juliet. I’d say that was when I saw You. All of you. You were sweaty, hair dripping, sparkles shining in your eyes. You were beautiful.

I glimpsed your soul that evening — vibrant, joyous, loving life. The night could not cover up your light.

And when we retreated, your eyes startled me. They seemed to see inside me. So I left the lights on and fought the shyness. I wanted you to see all of me.

But this most beautiful thing could not be mine, and Juliet and Romeo met their plight.

Shakespeare at least let them commit to each other; I didn’t even get that. I’ve given up trying to make sense of this, what lesson I’m supposed to learn. All the more mocking when you remember R&J is a joke. Shakespeare wrote it as a satire, and you made someone else’s Romeo.

Did I mess things up when I wished for everyone to be happy? Did yours depend on my silent grief? I should’ve waited for that shooting star instead of staking it on a satellite.

Don’t give yourself so much credit. I would’ve still gone to the places I went; my decisions would still have made sense. But on my pilgrimage, I wanted to let you know. I wanted to tell you all the stories, the sights, the sounds. I wanted to tell you first. I was sure you’d understand.

I’ve always had an adventurous spirit. I can’t stay in one place for too long. Do you know what really made me realize I wanted to stay with you? You’re the only one who ever made me want to “settle.” Of course, I would never give up my dreams for you or anybody, but I wanted to interlace them with yours, and I wanted us to be a team. Anything with you would’ve been an adventure.

In a strange way, I think I was also trying to catch up to you. Trace your steps. I wanted to see what made you You.

Now I can’t even be part of your present — there’s too much You in me — and I grieve for the You I will never know. To think that Boy is still in there, but he won’t turn his eyes on me. To think you never cared enough, if you left me so quickly.

Distance is a bullshit excuse. You just never believed. And you didn’t want to put in the effort to get to know me. Did I ever really know you?

I said I felt you taught me a lot, a lot about respect. How to be treated, how to be loved. But if I’d known how short-lived this respect would be… Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like if I’d never met you.

My love for you stemmed from the purest part of me, undiminishing, accepting, me at my peak. I saw the very best in you, and I wanted to see the worst. I wanted to embrace you in all your flaws and hurts. I wanted to know you. So others can come along, and they can love you all they want, but my love was never less. I was not afraid to take my chances with you.

And we could’ve burned, and we could’ve fought. We could’ve failed miserably. But at least we would’ve seen it through to the end. At least I would’ve had a real answer. Why do you keep me in limbo?

Love only works if there’s a mutual chance to be taken. You didn’t choose me. So now I have to go. The purest things turn most dark.

I don’t mind being the antagonist in your story. My love is of the kind that can’t be taken back. It spills out of me relentlessly, so I must turn it into something, be it anger or resentment or hate.

I think if there had never been anything between us, we might’ve been very good friends. We are similar enough that we might’ve met one way or another without this encounter.

But such might’s are bygone, and the universe doesn’t care for the past. What I’m hearing you tell me is never in a billion years, not even in a parallel world. What I’m hearing you say is I never mattered enough.

Who can say what love is? I’ve wondered plenty if thinking of you is just a habit. Like washing my face in the morning, maybe you’re a routine in my head. Why are bad habits so hard to break?

I tried to fast-forward the grief. To get straight to acceptance and hope to salvage something. But I’m realizing the cycle doesn’t work that way. Anger, disbelief, and bargaining can all happen out of order. Only acceptance cannot.

Is it too much to ask for a love without regret?

Have I spit everything out?

In the end, there are so many things to say, yet nothing to say at all.

One day, if it ever comes down to it, can we finish our hike? Then I will bury my love in the mountains and throw my longing down the cliff. I will douse the embers of my pain and fly away with the ash. I will end my sorrow for you.

Because I don’t want anger or resentment or hate; those are remnants of love. I just want apathy.

To say, Goodbye, my love.

The Cheshire Cat said, “If you don’t know where you’re going, any road will get you there.”

Is it sad, then, that the only place I can be is furthest away from you?

- the longest distance in the world