…as in I will never hypothetically speak to you again. No more letters, no more musings, at least none that I can anticipate being directly meant for you.
I found pictures of you on instagram today. I’d like to pretend that I wasn’t looking, but I think I really was. I didn’t *have* to be casually browsing an instagram account that belonged to a location you were sure to hang out at that just so happened to post tons of group photos of it’s clients. I also didn’t *have* to quickly skim over all the pictures, glancing left and right for any trace of your ever-recognizable face. But I did. Ohhhhh did I.
Earlier this year, one of my cats got crazy sick, and I was so certain that she’d taken all of my feelings away from you. As it turns out, a lot of it was just distraction. Of course I still think about you, but of course, like any relatively sane human being, I have thought of you less and less.
Anyways, obviously I wouldn’t torture myself with “coincidentally” finding pictures of you online and “accidentally” spotting you out a mile away from me on the streets unless I still had a case of the lingers. I can only pretend karma’s a bitch for so long before I need to own up!!
But today’s picture findings were different somehow. Maybe it’s that this time around, I can actually see your face, and not your trashy manhood pics. Buuuut I’d hate to admit that after all this time, my emotional train wreck of a life has no one to blame but me and my attachment to your junk. *sigh*
You look gay.
Which is totally, absolutely, splendidly, totally actually fine. But I didn’t fall in love with a gay man. I fell in love with a hetero-normative closet case who played video games and worked out. Which in a weird way, is kind of what made my feelings for you so hardcore. I’m by no means trapped in the closet or shy about who I am, but I just have this complex of being in a totally heterosexually-defined role play of a relationship. One where, duh, I play the classy lady who gets pretend knocked up with your kids and spends all day raising hell (I mean a family).
It’s messed, I know. It’s probably something I need to work on! I guess I just really appreciate the stereotypical roles in a relationship, even though I will never be in a stereotypical relationship. At least not in this decade!!
AAAANYWAYS, societal expectations and gender confusion aside, I’m just not that into you anymore. At least not based off of how you look. (Holy crap this makes me sound like an asshole). But honestly, I’m proud of you for it.
You look happy. You look out. I had a hard time accepting that you weren’t truly happy in our relationship, but my gosh was it ever obvious looking back. I’m glad that you have friends you can relate your life experiences and problems to, and can (seemingly) express yourself in a way that is so odd for me to see now that it’s obvious it would have never happened in my la la land machine.
I’ll probably always be a little jaded that my first love, (and a love so fine at that), never worked out, but I feel a little bit released from you finally. I feel less like there’s something I need to prove of myself should we ever accidentally bump into each other. I’m looking for a big ol’ earthy potato, and you’re looking for fruity little boysenberries. We don’t even share a flipping garden anymore, God bless.
So even though you clearly never sought my permission to begin with, I give you permission to live your life. And I’ll try and give myself that same courtesy at long last!
I fucking love what you were for me, and it’s probably best I never see you again ;)