It’s only been two days since I moved out but it feels like an eternity. You threw two happy years of our love away to be alone, even though you say you still love me. When I left, we hugged and cried and kissed. I still don’t understand. You’re a part of my heart and I miss you. God, I miss you. You say we were becoming too co-dependent. That you needed space to get your life going in the right direction. That missing each other would be a good thing. That you needed that misery and desperation of being alone to force yourself into taking huge steps to further your dreams, to achieve happiness in that regard. That my being there made you content with where you are, complacent to working hard for other things in your life.
You were happy with me, with us… just not with everything else. You blame your inaction and lack of progress on our love, when really it was just you.
Part of me understands. Part of me is furious that you could be so selfish. All of me knows I deserve better than this, but does it matter what I deserve if this is all I want?
You were my first everything. I’m still so in love with you. I dream about you. I think about you constantly. Going from seeing and speaking to someone almost every day for more than two years to not talking at all is bizarre. I keep looking at my phone, expecting a silly text from you or a notification that you posted something on my facebook wall, like we’ve always done. Every time that I see a blank screen is a disappointment that chips away at my already broken heart. Before I left, you said that maybe this was temporary. That we’d talk “really soon.” That maybe in a little while we could “try again.” You’re my best friend. I need you in my life. But I don’t know if I could ever be “just friends” with you. I think I’ll probably always love you.
I wonder if you miss me as much as I miss you. You said you would. You said that you didn’t know what you were going to do without me, just that you needed this at this point in your life. You need to be alone. You don’t want to be in a relationship, to be responsible for making anyone happy but yourself when you’re trying to turn your life around. I can respect that, but I’ve tried to tell you so many times that you simply existing by my side was enough to make me happy. Seeing you happy brought me more happiness than you could ever know.
So, I moved out. Because that’s what you said you need. Because that’s what you think will help bring you to happiness.
I remember all the times you said that this was the best relationship you’ve ever had. That it was so different from all your others, but that it felt more “right” than anything else. We used to talk about a future together. We both wanted to spend the rest of our lives with each other. To move somewhere new, to travel, to enjoy life in our own individual ways, and also in ways together.
So here I am, trying to settle into an apartment that I’ll only be in for just a few short months before I graduate and move away. And as I unpack the boxes of my things, the only question running through my mind is, how could you? How could our love be less of a priority to you now, all of a sudden, when it used to be everything? How could you claim to love me like you say when you knowingly hurt me this badly? How could you not think that it’s worth it to stick it out? How could you not want me, the person you claim to love the most in the world, by your side during such a turbulent time?
You need to learn balance. Maybe I do, too. But not like this.
I hope you find happiness in your solitude. Because all I’m finding are reminders of you, reminders of how broken I feel, of a void that someday might finally close itself, but until then can only ever be filled by you.
Your absence is suffocating me.