An Open Letter

an open letter

Shared by imperfectant.

I loved you. I’m not sure whether I still do, but I’m sure I did at a point, and I did with every fiber of my being. You brought me unexplained happiness that took over me every time I saw you or spoke to you, something that so many others failed to do at the time, but you did perfectly well. It wasn’t just hormones or infatuation or absentmindedness or any other thing, it was love.

I can say I saw you at your best when you said you felt like a rock star. I was also there when you started doubting yourself and revealing your inner demons to me. I see you conquering audiences with your intelligence and wit, and I see you losing your cool to small things. You’re both so strong and so fragile, so human in a way I never thought I’d see.

I loved that. I loved your humanness, your spontaneity, your lack of reservations, how naturally you shift your tone from authority to humor, how delicate and sweet you are, how you completely drop any pretense when you’re around me. I’d like to think that was love, too, but sometimes it makes moving on so difficult.

I keep telling myself that I was stupid to fall in love with you, I blame myself for having responded to your existence in a way I shouldn’t have. But then, every time I write that I was stupid I remember how amazing you are, and how easy it is to fall for you (as many other women did). I also curse the situation we were born into, how limited our love had to be, how we didn’t even have the chance to find out whether it could work or not.

I’m jealous of each of your ex-girlfriends and your ex-fiancee, and I’m jealous of every girl you’ll ever love again and of the woman you’ll choose to be your wife and love you all she wants forever. But I still pray you find the happiness I wasn’t allowed to give you, and completely forget me and forget the misery our restricted feelings brought. And I pray I never forget how special you made me feel, and how beautiful our small infinity was.

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