I saw that your latest relationship ended. That’s harsh. It was the first one you’ve been in since you got into high school. Well, one that you deemed real. It always hurts like hell when it ends, when you put time and energy into something and it just ends, as though none of it was actually worth it, or they weren’t ever really in it for the long run. Hell, it may not have been real to you, but that’s how I felt when you broke things off.
I wrote you an email one day, you know. It was in our last year, about a month before everything ended. It was a letter, telling you that I couldn’t struggle anymore trying to keep afloat what I knew you didn’t want anymore. I knew you were in love with Ben, you made it clear to me through your constant reinforcement that “you like him, but you have me.” It was bullshit, but we were both in denial. I don’t blame you. They say, if you fall in love with two people, date the second, as if you loved the first, you wouldn’t love the second one.
I only told my brother about writing it. I must have read it a hundred times. It was three pages long, single-spaced. I’m sure if I went into the old G4 in my basement, I could find it now, but the hard drive is detached, the computer disassembled, the letter lost. I opted not to send it; instead, I hid it away in a file, tried to forget about it. I told myself that you loved me, and that things would get better.
But, I maintained optimism. When you cheated on me, I stuck by you, I insisted that we could look past it. I was there. And when it ended, somehow, I was more broken than I could have ever imagined. And I was about to break up with you? I didn’t understand what had happened.
The wounds don’t heal. It’s like breaking a mirror. Now that someone left you, you’ll know how it feels. You’ll never find the missing pieces. They’re gone. But you’ll learn that the holes and wounds are now a part of the whole, rather than where pieces are missing. Some are shaped like parents, some like lovers, siblings, and children. Some are the dead, others the lost. We all have them. I have one shaped like you, and I’m not afraid to admit it. My girlfriend has one shaped like her mother. Ask her and she’ll tell you. Some people try to fill these holes, but that’s never going to fix them; if you live for what’s missing, you’ll never find what’s there.
Honestly, I don’t know where I’m going with all of this. I wish someone had told me all of this, and I guess a part of me just wants you to get through things okay. Maybe it’s just a hole talking.