These Are The Things I Will Never Tell You

I will never tell you that I loved you. But I guess I did tell you, once, when we were drunk and giggling and falling asleep listening to the late night traffic pass through the city.

And I guess I told you one other time — in that email after everything ended. That email that said all the things that I couldn’t say in person. Except it wasn’t everything. It was just the things that I could get down, the things that I had the courage to type and send.

There are some things that I just can never and will never tell you.

I will never tell you how you made me feel more comfortable in my own skin than anyone else ever has.

I will never tell you how much I needed you, needed our relationship. How much it meant to me to be with someone who respected me and didn’t try to belittle or manipulate. Or maybe you did?

I will never tell you how alive I felt with you and how young.

I will never tell you that I looked up to you.

I will never tell you how your place felt like home to me. How comfortable I felt among your art-covered walls and minimalist furniture.

I will never tell you that sometimes I wondered what you saw in me. In the end, I guess it wasn’t enough.

I will never tell you how many times I thought you weren’t listening to me.

I will never tell you how mad I was that things ended on your terms. And yet, how relieved I was when it was finally over.

I will never tell you that I wanted it to last. That I wanted to be your person.

I will never tell you that you are a liar. You said I was your best friend, yet we hardly speak anymore.

I will never tell you that that hurts even more than not being together. I miss my best friend everyday.

I will never tell you how much it wrecked me when you said you were seeing someone else. How gutted I felt.

I will never tell you how mad and sick I was when you brought her along and didn’t give me a heads-up. How proud I was of myself for not vomiting on the spot.

I will never tell you how horrible it made me feel that she met your family so much sooner than I did.

That you spent the holidays together. Things I was never invited to do. How ill and small and insignificant that made me feel.

I will never tell you that you are being an immature asshole. A master of half-truths.

I will never tell you that I still don’t know what I was to you. Don’t know what went wrong. Don’t know why I wasn’t enough.

I will never tell you that I miss waking up next to you.

I will never tell you that I hate myself for still caring.