It’s Not a Love Letter – It’s an Apology
If you’re reading this it means I actually worked up the courage to post it in a public setting, so good for me. You know me too well and if you know once you get me started I have a tendency to go on and on about mindless, self-centered and conceited nonsense that is more about me than it is about you, specifically when it comes to admitting fault. Writing openly about my feelings, particularly love, is deeply painful for me ; And this, this is the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to write.
There’s no easy way to say this so I’ll just say it, I met someone. It was an accident, I wasn’t looking for it, I wasn’t on the prowl, it was a perfect storm. She said one thing, I said another – and the next thing I knew, I wanted to spend the rest of my life in the middle of that conversation. Now there’s this feeling in my gut that she might be the one. She’s completely crazy in the best possible way, and she has this way of putting a smile on my face that just will not go away. She is highly neurotic with a great deal of emotional maintenance required to maintain her (deserved) expectations of happiness. She is you, my love. That’s the good news.
The bad news is that I don’t know how to be with you right now. And that scares the shit out of me. Because if I’m not with you right now, I have this feeling that we’ll get lost out there. It’s a big, bad world full of twists and turns. And people have a way of blinking and missing the moment. The moment that could have changed everything. I don’t know what’s going on with us, and I can’t tell you why you should waste the leap of faith on the likes of me, particularly when you consider that I’m not the most handsome, charming or perfect man you will ever cross paths with, but damn you smell good. Like home. And you make excellent tea. That’s got to count for something, right?
The most heartbreaking aspect of our situation is that once upon a time I had a chance, and I let it slip through the cracks – in fact, I let it tumble down a cliff. My fatal flaw is that it’s always too little – too late. And in my case, this is about 8 months too late. I was too scared, or perhaps too immature to do right by you. Too vulnerable to take a blind leap of faith of my own. See, the thing about love is that, like life, it’s finite. And that is the most terrifying aspect of life’s my most beautiful gift.
In the end, I let you go. I forced you out like a crazed lunatic drunk on fear, remorse and self-loathing. I don’t ever expect you to love me again, but I pray that someday you ‘ll be able to look me in the eyes with some emotion – hell, ANY emotion – other than contempt and disgust. What’s my salvation here? That it is better to have had your love in my hands and abandoned it, than to never have held it in your grasp at all? I want you to forgive me, then forget me. It will be the most prudent thing you ever do.
But that’s the easy part. There’s this selfish part of me that wants – needs- to have you in my life. Frankly, it doesn’t matter what capacity we someday find our relationship. I would love to come across you by chance with your new love, and admire from afar that feeling that we once shared – that mutual lust I sadly took for granted. Somehow I think that watching him stare into your beautiful eyes with the complete admiration that I once did will allow my heart to vicariously beat through his. I may someday forget you, but I will never forget the way you fundamentally changed me for the better and forever altered the course of my humble existence. Bless your soul for allowing me the forgiveness that I do not deserve – I love you and it’s staggering how simultaneously cathartic and soul-crushing that feeling is for me.