I told my therapist about you.
Because when I tried to hurt you like you hurt me, you didn't bat an eye. Because I can feel myself becoming a memory. Because I saw all of this coming, too, and I thought I could handle it, even though your absence caused me to stay in bed for thirty-six hours and down cheap alcohol that I couldn’t stand the taste of and kiss strangers because, as it turns out, I couldn’t.
Because I can feel myself becoming irrelevant to you, and because I am slowly realizing that I don’t know how relevant I ever was.
I think the worst thing in the world is never knowing what role you play in someone else’s life. If they only think about you when they meet someone with your name or major or hometown, or if you simply exist as a wandering thought at three in the morning, or if you never dare to leave their mind, if they feel your presence in every song and laugh and crowd. Do they miss you when you're gone? Or do they think it's ridiculous that you miss them, so much that you can feel it in your bones.
It's the worst thing to not know, especially if that person once played the starring role in the movie of your life, especially when that role should have been yours all along.
It’s becoming obvious that you were never meant to stay in my life forever. And that’s okay. I’m really, really trying to make myself understand that it is. Because what you did for me—making me feel alive, and accepted, and like I could do this—that will have changed me irrevocably and forever and through that, you will stay a part of me even long after we have both moved on.
I hope you know that I am eternally grateful for the impact you had on me. I hope you know that I was just too scared to do anything about the way I felt, but I wanted to. God, I wanted to.
And I hope she knows that she’s the luckiest girl in the world to be adored by you.
I know you don’t owe me anything. I know you’re happy. And I know that this won’t go anywhere.
We had what we had, and it was special, and life-changing, and it was enough. It has to be enough.
So this is me letting you go.
This is me promising that I’m going to stop checking up on you on social media. I’m going to stop writing about you and directing monologues at you. I’m going to stop crying about you and seeking your approval and finding excuses to stay in your life.
I’m going to stop giving you chances to prove me wrong. I’m going to stop hoping for you.
This isn’t me giving up. It’s me giving in. To the life I know I deserve. This is me giving myself a chance and believing that I am enough, that I am strong enough to face the world without you.
This is me letting you go.
At least—it’s me trying to.