Looking Back, A Year After Our Breakup

I’m not sure why I am wasting my time writing to you, because you’re not worth this much time to me anymore, and let’s face it: All I am to you is another short-lived memory that faded away faster than I could grasp it. But something in me just wanted to write to you. The thoughts I’ve been thinking for a while have been building up, and this is the only way I know to let it out to you. It’s not that I’m sad or angry; I just felt like writing to you.

Our one-year anniversary of being apart from each other was last month and your 25th birthday is this weekend. Instead of spending my evening planning very well-thought-out surprises and trips to try and earn your love like I used to, I am spending my evening writing a very well-thought-out letter to you that you will never see.

The day you left, I felt as though I had just driven into a wall traveling 100 mph. I wasn’t shattered physically, but emotionally. And I’m truly not sure which is worse. I know for the most part, I am over you. You left me with no closure and no answers to any of my questions, which is why the thought of you still lingers. It was unfair. To be honest, I still hold a grudge against you, because of the way you left me. Not because of your character or our relationship, but because of how you chose to end things. I don’t even want to know the answers to the questions I still have. I’m sure the painful truth would be comparable to that of child labor.

As I lay in bed tonight, like many nights, I think about what you’re doing. I think about whom you’re thinking about. Do you ever think of me? Do you ever lie in bed thinking about me until your eyes slowly fade to black? Do you ever think about the times we shared laughing all night, and the childish names we used to call each other? It’s crazy to think we live only a few miles from one another and are complete strangers now. I don’t know anything about you, except for the times I stumble upon your life in pictures.

You were the perfect man to me. You were financially stable, you loved your mom and your friends more than anything, you were intelligent and you looked great in a suit. I used to picture you at the end of the aisle, standing in front of me as I gracefully glided through the rows of our family and friends in my angelic white dress. But that’s just it. You were only a picture. You were only an idea, because you were never fully there. I was defeated in the battle with you as my target, never giving up as you chose to drag me along, because being aimlessly tugged by a thread was better than being cut completely.

As I watch your life in pictures, I can tell that you’re happy. Your career is still going well (I always knew it would), you love your dysfunctional family more than anything, and you have a new love in your life. I have no hatred or hostility toward her, because she seems like a genuinely nice person. To be honest, she almost seems too good for you. I’m happy you found the love you couldn’t within me. But I’m also saddened. It’s not the fact that you have a new woman in your life. It’s the fact that the way you smile when you’re with her and the way you talk about her is exactly the way I have always dreamed of being loved by you. You’re not ashamed to bring her around your friends or boast about your perfect love story to every social network you reside on, which is what hurts me the most. Sometimes I look at your pictures and think that that girl could have been me. But other times, I look at your pictures and thank God that girl isn’t me. If I have one wish, it’s not that you would somehow realize you love me more than her. It’s that you never put her through what you put me through. I wish that pain upon nobody.

Metaphorically speaking, our relationship resembled that of a temporary tattoo. The perfect image of us was mounted on me, essentially teasing me, because it was so clear and visible at one point in time. It was a perfect 20/20 vision. It looked so real. The perfect image that I tried to portray actually tricked people into thinking it was the real thing, just like a 25-cent tattoo.

However, the picture I saw of us was never permanent. After being weathered and worn so much, it became less clear and distant, completely fading with time. I kept trying to reapply it over and over again, but we all know that once you scratch off a temporary tattoo and try to reapply it, it just doesn’t stick no matter how hard you try.

This past year has been the absolute best and worst of my life. I would like to say I’ve just started my life… without you. I been alone, I’ve been through hell and back with multiple roommates walking in and out of my life, I’ve been broke and I’ve been lost. But I’ve also become confident, I’ve been happy for no reason and I’ve never felt more loved than I do now. I would like to give you all the credit for doing me a favor and setting me free, but I don’t want to rev your ego any harder than it was. I succeeded by myself this year. I succeeded when I never ever thought I would be able to without you. Despite thinking I was so insecure, I told myself I would never come after you if you decided to leave me. And I didn’t. I knew all along you weren’t worthy of me, but I was so set on grasping that perfect picture when I thought I had it.

As I think about what to say to end this letter, I was thinking just to let it be, and sign off, because why bother? But we all know how far “no closure” gets us, don’t we?

Even though you are nothing to me now, you still selfishly took up a big space in my heart… a space that will take a long time and the right person to mask. Because you still hold a spot in my heart, I still have love for you. I still wish you no harm and I wish you happiness. I will never forget you and the great times we had, but that doesn’t mean I can be friends with you. You will continue to be a distant memory, and only that. I still see the good in you, and deep down, I know you know how bad you hurt me. It will forever live inside of you and for that, I forgive you.

I will continue writing you letters until the ink runs out. And believe me, it’s running out as quickly as the idea of me did; all it takes is a short amount of time after being weathered and worn – just like our story.