An Open Letter...

Dear ex-boyfriend,

I know we broke up some time ago, but we've been caught up in one of those “it's complicated" relationships for some time, too. It's taken us both a while to get shit sorted, but alas, it's finally happened. I've spent the past couple of months thinking; you know, deconstructing our relationship. Or maybe you don't know. Never mind; it's probably just a girl thing.

Anyway, I have a few things I want to get off my chest, and what better way to deal with everything, than sharing it all with anyone that has access to the Internet? If you aren’t going to give shit your all, go the fuck home, right?

I found myself looking through some old photos the other day, and I noticed that whenever I came across a picture of you, or of us, I paused. I would spend a couple of extra seconds, (okay, maybe minutes), glancing over those photographs and recalling all of the memories. This happens whenever you’re mentioned in conversation, too. (Yeah, having the same friends means that you’re mentioned more often than not. I’ll be honest, shit kind of blows, dude.)

Seeing you in pictures, or hearing about you in conversation, still causes a feeling and I’m not sure how long this will go on for. The crazy part of me (or maybe not the crazy part?) hopes that I get this little feeling for always, because if I get this feeling every now and then, when I see you or hear about you, it means we were more than just nothing, right? We were more than just a sentence in each others' story.  (Yeah, selfish me wants at least a fucking chapter.)

I wonder if sometimes, you think of me and get that feeling, too. A part of me (a big part) really hopes that you do. I don’t know if I come up in your conversations with our friends (sometimes I hope I do and sometimes I hope I don’t), or if you think of me every now and then, but I’d like to think that when I do come up, you have a feeling, too; a happy feeling. I hope that I mean just a little more to you, a little something different, than the next person.

Sometimes something happens and I reach for my phone with the intention of texting or calling you. I don't know how long this will go on for, either. It's made me realise how much I shared with you. You really were my best friend, and I really, really miss that part of our relationship; more than all the other parts, to be honest.

I miss your hugs. The safest I've ever felt was in your arms. I don't know how, 'cause let's be real, there’s not a lot of ass that you could kick. Like, yeah, you have muscles and shit, but, dude, you’re kind of tiny. When you wrapped your arms around me, though, and let me rest my head against your chest, tucked under your chin... well, you give great hugs; the kind that make you feel warm, safe, secure, important and loved. Fuck, I miss those hugs.

I have a few things from you in this box. There are a couple of lists titled ‘why I love you’. I kind of forgot I had them, and I can’t remember when you gave them to me, but they’re amazing. Some of the reasons you gave make me feel great about who I am as a person: the way you’re always honest, how you know what you want in life and where you want to go, how you always have your point of view, how organised you are. If these are things you saw in me, and that you loved, well, it makes me feel like I’m a semi-decent person.

Some of them make feel warm and gorgeous inside: that beautiful smile, that sparkle in your eyes, your giggle.

Some of them make me laugh: the way you like things perfect, the way you mock me, how you can make me do things when I don’t want to. Amazing.

There’s a letter you wrote me after we broke up (the first time), too. I reread it about two months ago and I’ll be honest, I bawled my fucking eyes out most of the way through it. I can’t bring myself to read it again; not this soon. I’m looking at it now, and just remembering the feeling I felt the last time, my heart drops. I’m sure one day, I’ll be able to open it without feeling all these feelings, but for now, I’ll tuck it back away in my memory box.

Now, you know I’m a hoarder, so I came across a few old birthday cards from you. I’mma give it you straight: you have shit taste in birthday cards, for real. When I seen these ones, I assumed they were from my grandma, not my boyfriend. Fix that for the next girl, yeah?

I miss sharing a bed with you. That's annoying to read, isn't it? I know I always used to complain about you being all up on this, but now I miss it. I miss that no matter how big the bed was, we'd always find ourselves tucked on one side of it. I miss that you "had" to hold me each night. I miss the way you wrapped yourself around me, even though, at the time it was fucking annoying because I could never move.

I don't miss the snoring, though. Not. at. all.

I miss knowing that I had someone. At the end of the day, I could go home and vent to you. Even if you didn't agree, if you thought I was being an overdramatic (I always was) girl, you always listened. You always had my back. Maybe not in public, which I know caused a couple of fights, but I knew at the end of the day I could count on you. I miss knowing I always had someone.

I know I've made it sound like everything was perfect, but oh god, we both know it wasn't. I'm selfish enough to want to feel like the most important person to someone, and I never felt like I was to you. That's a big part of why I walked away in the end; I was never sure if you loved me, or if it was easier to stay in the relationship because we'd been together so long and it was expected.

When we last broke up, (the for really good break-up), I spent a lot of time thinking about how alone I was going to be.  You hear all these stories about great love and I freaked the fuck out that you were my only chance at it and we’d managed to screw it up.  A lot of this thinking was the insecure, self-conscious girl in me; the girl that couldn’t see anyone else ever being interested in me.

I was legit scared that I’d be forever alone, though. I was ready to curl up in bed and cry into my fucking pillow about how I’d be living that old spinster life with the 42 cats, (but without the cats ‘cause I fucking hate them, so I’d really be all a-fucking-lone).

I’ve found out that’s not at all true, though.

I’ve slept with one person since you. Before this happened, but once I was over the whole ‘forever alone’ deal, I’d wondered what it’d be like: sleeping with someone that wasn’t you. Sleeping with someone else would be the final nail in the coffin of our relationship and I knew that. It'd be admitting that we really, really were over.  Once it happened, though, it didn't upset me as much as I thought it would. The world didn't end, I didn't cry my way through it, and, most importantly, I didn't regret it. In fact, it was after this had happened that I finally found some peace in regards to our relationship.

Every now and then, though, I think about you, and I, and that someone else, and I hate that you're not my last anymore.

I guess I'm just trying to tell you I miss you in a roundabout way. I know we’re doing the right thing, but you're always going to be important to me. There's always going to be a part of me that loves you like I don’t love anyone else. I’m finally finding my peace with that, though, and I hope that wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, that you are, too.

I miss you, I love you, but above all else, I wish you the best.
Thanks for the memories.

x J