I guess it’s about time I write something to you. Not that I’d ever send this. It’s probably best that I never did this, but I don’t know how else to make the words leave me. I knew how you felt about me all along. And in the beginning, when you were just young, it didn’t affect me much. I saw how you acted around me and it did make me feel important. Because I know, to you, I was.
It was as time went on. As you got older. As you became someone else entirely, but yet still the same in how you acted. It was like with everyone else you were different, grown, but with me you reverted back to the anxious, sad eyed little girl.
It was mesmerizing. No one had ever looked at me like you. I had never had such an upper hand, a control, when in every other aspect of my life I had none. You said nothing but everything to me at the same time. You were constantly upset, constantly wanting to be near me yet keeping your distance. I felt all of it.
Every time you talked to me, there was so much silence. So much time where you would just look at me, just sit there, stand there, looking so lost. But you looked at me like I was the only place you had ever wanted to be. And that was how you said it all without ever saying it.
It began to consume me. I couldn’t figure it out. I would be asked questions by people, wondering what was going on. I pretended I didn’t know. It was mine, an enticing secret. It became as interesting and inevitable to me as it was to you.
I knowingly did things to test your response. I would treat you with nothing but kindness and compliments one day, ignore you the next, make critical remarks the next. I would watch the way just a touch from me would light up your eyes, the way you’d walk out of the room as though you suddenly had a purpose. I would see you sit down and put your earphones in, as I was purposefully not even looking at you. I saw you wipe your eyes and pretend you didn’t just wipe away tears. I saw how my critical comments sent you spiraling. You would collapse into yourself, and sometimes not show up again for days.
But that was the thing. You could never stay away. You could never leave. You would hint to me that it was what you wanted to do, but I never believed you because I knew you couldn’t. I had full control and you were in so deep you couldn’t make any decisions for yourself. I might as well have held a remote to you.
These things I did, they didn’t make me feel bad. They made me feel powerful.
It was when other things began falling apart for you, and you finally had something to say to me that wasn’t directed to the place, to me, that I felt so out of control. There was something going on for you that I wasn’t directing. It felt wrong. And it hit me like I never could have expected. I felt bad that you were experiencing this in such a way that it made me angry.
I will never forget yelling at you in that hallway. I knew you were sick. I knew you were upset. But I had lost all control of myself, and I wanted to make you cry. I wanted the tears to be for me, not for anything else. You just looked down, and I thought you were going to fall. Words just spilled from me as I could not stop. It was when I had gone too far, knowing that I had dangerously cut too deep that I knew I needed to reverse the effects. I held your hand. I apologized. I hugged you. I put my hand on your face.
It then ran through my veins, the strength in it. The tears were now spilling from my eyes. You looked up at me and just stared at me, as I was holding your hand. I saw that I was your focus. I was so much your focus that you became mine.
I hugged you the next night as well. I wanted you to feel strong then. I had spent the entire night awake, as I had accidentally told you. Frantically worrying about this situation, realizing more things that I hadn’t before.
Everything exploded that night. It went up into flames and I had no idea how to reach you. I knew that after this, there would be no way I could allow you to return. It was the end and I didn’t know how to go about it.
You walked into the building five days later, your face marked with tears and your eyes sad and tired. You were the most prominent topic in those days, all eyes on you, what were you doing there? But you might as well have been invisible. You were so focused on me that it was like no one even saw you.
I knew this would be the last conversation we would ever have. But I don’t think you knew. I told you then, so you could have some form of closure, that I knew how you felt about me. I’m not sure what came over me to make me be so forward, I just knew it was the end. It felt right. I couldn’t control saying it, because you then had full control of me. And the way you were, so fragile, I needed to get it out into the open. I needed you to know you weren’t crazy.
You asked me if you could hug me. And I had to tell you no. I couldn’t stand to have it be such a predictable goodbye. I had to at least control that aspect. You walked out of there and I told you it would all be okay.
I followed your life for a while after that. I saw the way you changed and I knew exactly what it meant. You were leaving it all behind. You were leaving me behind. But I still saw it in your eyes even through photographs, just how not over it you were. Everything you did in those months was symbolic. Everything you did had some sort of meaning. I always picked up on that about you.
It was in October. When it all became too much. When there was a picture of you looking happy. Then I knew it was time to stop. I couldn’t stand to see photos of you like this. How could you be happy, if it was not by something I had done?
I know how it must seem to you. That I did it because I am angry with you. But I did it as a final move to cause you pain. To leave you wondering. To never give you any more answers.
I guess we have that in common, we’ll never have any answers.