This letter goes out to the man who I never gave my whole heart to. The man who I obsessed over, craved, dazzled over. The same man I refused to let in. The one I was so engulfed in, so head over heels, so taken back by his charm, his looks, his intelligence. This same man I was cruel to, I was ice cold, frigid even. To this day, I still don’t know why I withheld so much from him, why the sight of him made me cringe and melt all at the same time. Why I let my pride get in the way of my overwhelming feelings for him. What a silly, silly paradox. They say when you hate someone as much as you love them that’s when you know you’re in love. It never really made much sense to me before now, when I look back and realize how much I truly did hate him and love him all at once. How I was so envious of how carefree and adventurous he was, qualities I myself never possessed. Qualities I loved him for, ironic isn’t it? I found myself thinking about him constantly, dying to be with him when we were apart and I hated him for that. I hated how vulnerable he made me feel without him, a feeling I never knew until him. He made me feel weak, less than whole, not myself. And, at the same time I was on cloud 9 knowing he was mine and I was his.

Love takes you to unimaginable places, it leads you to believe that your dreams aren’t good enough anymore because reality is so blissful. But, he made me envious of anyone and everyone close to him, worried he’d like them better than me, worried he’d feel they would complete him more than I ever could. So, I withheld love from him, I made him beg for hugs and kisses and “I love you’s” and in some sick way I got satisfaction from him, knowing I could prevent him from the one thing he really wanted…me. It started to become a game to me and now I see how sick that sounds. How dumbfounded he must have been every time I told him I loved him but took every chance I could to avoid touching him. I was always told that I would be the death of him, that people would be surprised if he made it out alive after me, was able to function, breathe easy, love. I took pride in this, I took pride in being the girl who was hard to love, the girl who was a hurricane of a person, who’s heart was made of cold, clear, ice. I realize now how twisted I must have seemed, how twisted I was. The funny thing is, he has found love, several times it seems after me, and me well, another man has yet to even get close. So is it me who broke him or him who broke me?

But still, looking back now, the words "I’m sorry" just don’t seem enough. How does one apologize for being a never ending storm with no way of knowing when they might settle? How does one apologize for every time they couldn’t muster up the courage to say “I love you” when the feeling was so overwhelming you couldn’t breathe? Can one apologize for making another feel so unwanted, unloved, not good enough? I never quite put a finger on why I was the way I was and looking back I don’t know if I ever will. To this day, I still find myself cold and distant. I still find myself building walls, refusing to let people in to see past my brown hair and blue eyes and into my soul. I still use the words “I love you” sparingly and I still believe I may never find love. So I put all my passion and love into my future, my dreams, my goals. But, the thing I have yet to figure out, put down on paper, say out loud is; am I keeping men away to protect myself from the hurt, pain, heartbreak, or am I making myself unavailable and unwanted to protect them from the inevitable hurricane that is me? Stay tuned.

“I will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible. And when I leave you will finally understand, why storms are named after people.”