Dear J
I doubt you’d know about this website, so I’m just gonna go ahead and say it.
It’s been two years since things went to sh*t. Two years since you decided what we had was unfixable. Two years since you effed up my mind to the point of being unfixable. Six months since you rekindled my hope. Since we both accepted we never fell out of love even after all of that. Six months since you broke my heart for the second time.

I never fell out of love with you. That whole time, every relationship I had, everything was just trying to forget you. But I can’t. I tried to be friends, but now when I think about you I just get angry. I get angry because you could be my person. You just choose not to be.

Why would you choose to hurt me? Knowing everything I went through after you, what could possibly make you tell me you wanted to hurt me like that? How can you expect things to be okay after that?

But I still sleep with your blanket like it’s a lifeline. Somehow it still smells like you after all this time and so many washes. After everything that’s happened, it relaxes me. It reminds me of when you gave it to me. It reminds me of the summer we spent being two dumb kids in love. The week we spent on the beach together.

I said I was gonna come out and say it, but I haven’t yet, so here goes.
I miss you.
There’s always gonna be a part of me that loves you. Even after you’ve treated me like trash countless times. Even after you made me feel worse than I ever had before. Even after you said all those horrible things to try and hide your panic from me.
But I can’t keep waiting around for you. I can’t jump at your every random text to try and glean some attention from you. I can’t keep hoping like this.

I heard a song tonight that matches how I feel perfectly. You know the song “multiverse” by PEMBROKE? That.
“Somewhere in the multiverse, there’s a you and me that works.”
that’s the line.
That’s the part that hurts so effing bad.
If there are other universes, other versions of us, I think there’s a version that worked. A version that’s still in love. A version that made it.
I just wish that version was this one sometimes.

I wish I didn’t have to guess how you’re doing by your cameos in your mom’s insta posts. I don’t want to have to be the one to text first in order to have half a conversation with you. I don’t want to have to struggle to manage our fragments of friendship. I wish you cared about my feelings, J.
I wish we had worked. Why didn’t we work?
I’m bi? I’m not christian? I’m not your ex, who you flirted with while we were together?

You threw me away the first time because I was too different from you. I stopped being interesting to you. Even when I was completely revealed to you, you didn’t give me a second look. What sixteen year old guy does that?
Then you threw me away because I wasn’t close enough for us to be intimate. You wanted to explore. I get it. You wanted to see who else could be out there for you. I get it. But you didn’t have to say you wanted to use me.

Why couldn’t you have been the version that wanted me for who I was? All I wanted was you, J.
Why can’t we even just be friends?
Why can’t we be the version that worked