You were never really mine, but my young, conceited self alway thought otherwise. So much so that I could no longer decipher the difference between love and infatuation. Until now I wonder if I went up to you and hugged you and pressed my face into your chest, if you would smell the way you used to, but I know that the eight years of liking you had been enough for me to make sense of what I was feeling. This was the first time I had ever felt anything towards anyone, and I guess you paved the way for those who’ve come after you and how I would love them.
I’m sorry, but do you feel the crushing aloneness I do too?
I’m trying to provide an explanation for how I feel, not just for you, but for me. I’m trying to analyze sentiments and understand emotion, but the only thing I’ve come to learn is that love is just painful and messy. There’s nothing glorious about it, but here I am human enough to not subconsciously resume the off switch in every moment of vulnerability.
I had tried so hard to be a part of your life, and I would pathetically find any reason to talk to you, but now I’ve given up. Because of you, I now know that no man will ever love someone who is of no use to them, and it would be silly of me to still cling on to this feeling or on to you, and it wouldn’t make sense to spend more nights thinking about you when my mind has become worn out, and my heart has become tired.
Because I’ve sat, writing you these bottled messages for eight years now, and I know you’ll never get them, but maybe one day I will. Maybe one day I’ll finally be able to look you and no longer feel anything, but that day isn’t today.
I still really love you, but whatever.
hi friends! here is an open letter to the first guy i ever loved.