I’m not going to tell you that you should have stuck with your first choice and disregarded the voice that told you there was more waiting to be found in other people.

I’m not going to tell you that I was never happier with another person than when I was with you.

I’m not going to shed light on the fact that it isn’t my choice to still feel the things I do for you and that if I could, I would forget your name and that first week in January spent in your bedroom.

I’m not going to confess that I understand the things you haven’t told me yet. I’m not going to tell you that I was always willing to meet you where you couldn’t meet me

in hard to reach places,

high and low.

I’m not going to tell you that I have to force my hands to be still when I’m near you and that I have to consciously slow my pulse to ebb the heart palpitations. I never understood why you had the effect on me that you do and I’m thankful to be able to navigate through the side effects of loving you silently.

I’m not going to tell you that you’re making a mistake in not choosing me every day for the rest of our lives, I know you are, but where would telling you that get me?

I see you in your entirety and when you look at me I can tell it’s through a keyhole.

Oh, if you’d only open the door.

I’m not going to tell you that it’s your loss

and that I am well aware of how happy we could be,

and that your grin reminds me of the morning sun,

and that your pensive thoughts are highly sought after,

and that your birthmarks are like constellations against a summer night sky,

and that I could spend an afternoon counting them happily,

and that my lips miss your neck and my hands miss your hands,

and my atoms adore your atoms more than I’ll ever be able to articulate,

and that I haven’t been able to truly sleep well in someone else’s bed since leaving yours,

and that I still remember the things you said five years ago as though you said them last week,

and that I have to compartmentalize all of this because I refuse to be that person who can’t let go,

I want to, and none of this is my choice, and I’m trying to look away from the past, and the future looks so promising. I wish I could stop hoping to conquer life with you and really accept that if you wanted to be near me, you would.

I know it.

I wonder how long until these feelings fade for good. I  fell for you when I was nineteen and I don’t think I’ve gotten up since.

I don’t want to be the only one who still feels something.

I don’t want to be the only one who remembers.