It's Sunday again my love, and the pain I carried became unbearable yet again.
I took down your pictures from my walls and your perfumed shirt is clean, sitting in my closet
never to see the light of day again, perhaps.
Today, I let you be free of myself, one heavier step forward.
As January reels in, I bore all my blossomful anger into fruitful reasons.
We wanted for ourselves very different things; in all sense, that was the beginning of our end.
I never belonged, and if I fought for my place now, I would spend my entire life
begging for a small space I could fit in.
It was lonely ever since we fell in love. Ever since the night we kissed
in the middle of the city park. You couldn't have known how I felt.
Did you know that? That I was so lonely, how I fought for my place
with you valiantly.
A new years war was lost.
My flaws, my affection, my thorny insults, our jokes, your empty promises.
It takes a certain kind of fear for loneliness for a person to stay
willingly in a place that doesn't want them.
Crumpled and torn.
I was so fixated to fit in. I kept myself small, so small.
In tall, high hopes it would mellow and make space for them one day.
I hope your freedom means something to you as much as liberation of my own
allowed me to shatter the rose-tinted glass I was seeing you through.
I'm still searching for your love in other men I talk to, and many summer nights, I still spend
hoping on a phone call that you will tell me you're sorry, that you still want to fight for me,
that you would change, that you still want to make me happy, that you're
keeping all the sugar words you gave me last year.
You said it was real, all of it. I've begun to wonder if any of it was.
I watched the Notebook. You were trying to be him.
The realization that killed me?
I never was your Allie.
I do not want any of that anymore, even if it was left in front of my doorsteps wrapped in
ribbons and tulips and carnations and roses I never got.
It's just a mirage. I think of being given love often, but it's not yours I want anymore.
I kept my promises.
You are still you.
The worst news of all.
You fought for me in ways you could, but it wasn't enough.
I hope your freedom sets you free.
Be yourself, the best version there is.
I hope I was worth every piece of your ingenuity that was kept.
I've loved well.
My apologies if I had shown it in a way that didn't translate favourably for you
but God knows I genuinely loved you enough to change myself
for you.
My dearest Telmuun,
in another universe, you called me softly and let me know you would stay
with me, beside me,
through hell and high water.
In another universe, you were never a pet.
In another life, you phoned me and reassured me that you would never hurt me again
with all the soft words a lover would utter to the person they wish to never lose.
In another lifetime, I was loved and heard and cherished.
In another story, I have never met you, and my mosaic heart was spared.
Instead, this life is all we've got.
Take care, will you?
