Before I met you, I had a lot of bad experiences dating, or trying to. That hasn’t really gotten any better, but it may explain partly why I was so taken aback with you, so unprepared for who you actually are when I kept expecting something else. My attempts to get to know you better were generally met, not with empty silence, but satisfying conversation. Instead of trying to create and enforce the perception of your greater value, you treated me as an equal. And whereas my romantic overtures or gestures have been so often met with scorn and contempt, you were always appreciative and respectful.
But more important than anything else, you were always kind. It doesn’t seem like that big of a thing until you’re deprived of it to the extent you don’t believe you even deserve it or could hope to be treated that way anymore. You are kind, compassionate, and understanding, and while you possess so many good qualities, these are what attract me to you the most.
I wish so badly that I could be the lucky one who gets the privilege to make you happy. I wish I could fill your life with constant reaffirmations of how beautiful and smart and capable you are. I wish I could live up to your expectations of me when all I do is fail and fail and fail. There’s a life out there that could be so incredibly satisfying and fulfilling for both of us and I wish I had held up my end to make that even a feasible dream.
Of all my failures, you are my greatest, not just because of how many times I failed you, but how many times I failed me too. I don’t think I’ll ever find a life that would fill me with as much joy as one with you would. And I blew it. I can only hope this pain helps drive me forward.