When it happened I had so many things to say to you. So much hurt to express. So much anger to share. I wanted to shove the intensity of my rejected love down your throat so you’d have to feel the whole of what you were turning away. Like a large piece of steak being forced down. I wanted your esophagus to ache with what you had to swallow.
I don’t have words now. I know now you’ll never feel the entirety of my love. You’ll never know the depth of my hurt. No amount of words will make you feel the ache I do.
No one is immune. No drug will cure it. No philosopher can properly describe the disease. No scholar can logic away the infection. It gets us all, eventually.
I know I’m enough. Enough has never been the issue. It’s the too much. I’m too ambitious. I’m too outspoken. I’m too commanding. Can’t someone embrace my rawness? To meet me where I am at fully. To not die a death of shrinking to make someone comfortable. You cannot still my waters. I am have undercurrents too deep for you to reach. Regardless of how vast my love is for you. I cannot change them. It’s who I am. It’s what I am.
I keep waiting for it to not hurt. I keep waiting to not have shooting pains of anxiety run through my chest when I’m reminded he’s no longer mine. I keep waiting to feel normal again. I’m afraid that might not come without a lot more hurt, from truly figuring out how to let him go and the future I see for us together. I keep waiting to feel like it won’t absolutely crush me to do that.
I’ve found that in my adult life a lot of decisions you think are about forgiveness, and they’re not. It’s always good to decide to forgive. Especially for you. The real decisions we make, the hard ones, is if you should try again.
He just feels like mine. Not in a possessive way just in a fitting way. Like that solid color puzzle piece you’ve had to the side waiting to see where it goes. And then finally you see it. Like oh, yes- of course. Of COURSE it goes there. How could it not? How could it ever go anywhere else?