I wore out my wrist before realizing I didn't have your address

I’m writing this on notebook paper in the spirit of our frantic notes. Do you remember? How we skirted around and around the full force of our connection out of personal fears, the pages piling up effortlessly, in and out of and inbetween everything under the sun? I remember how dark the pen felt, so heavy entrusted with the task of prying into details about you and her. But alas, I was getting sick of the comfortable direction we were taking. Sick of the inevitable descent into distance looming at graduation. Please know that I always wanted our friendship intact. Please. But also know that my friendship with you always felt like it was my calling. My awakening. Know that I needed you in a way that was encompassing of all connection. I needed you to let go and let in; to allow me the wonders of your idiosyncrasies and your heart and your mind. I needed to have my muse, and honor her.

‘Till now I always got by on my own
I never really cared until I met you
And now it chills me to the bone
How do I get you alone?

When we first spoke online about the connection two likeminded people can achieve, it was flash delirium. Like finding out that time can hold its breath and surrender itself to human intelligence. I felt massive. I felt effortlessly scintillating. I oozed with confidence. I felt sane by virtue of shared insanity. When you told me recently that you felt so small next to my intellect, I believe I abstained from telling you that you were responsible for all of it. You turned my angst into a twisted positivity and my mumbling and bumbling ideas into a confident and sleepless art. You made me so high, girl. You realized my potential.

And you didn’t even try
And then…
You did.

Wow. Sheer electricity. My restlessness regrouped and made you the focal point. Suddenly, all of our banter was like conversations with someone who had not only grown up with me my whole life, but who inspired me to be who I was in the present. A true friend and mentor. It didn’t hurt either that you are so incredibly beautiful and NO I do not mean to suck up. I mean to enlighten you on something I can still firmly believe about you. I don’t use that word often-- also “sexy”. Ugh.

Ugh. And there’s now. We haven’t spoken in months. Which is just as well, because things have never changed or become new and platonic versions of the needless bitterness. And even now this letter can attest to the fact that I’m still helpless without some form of contact with you. This is not an apology, by the way, because the way I was snubbed was not normal. And even if it was, I needed time away (which may prove to be for good).

And I lied. “Loved” is not the proper tense (how many times have I said this, oh Lord). Not that it’s important, because I’m sure you know. As for me, I didn’t. Now I do. Every time I get a taste of happiness, it’s underscored by how I felt about you. You’ve become the reference point. And when you asked me why I love(d) you I said, more-or-less, “because”. I thought at first it meant it held no substance; Now I realize just how careless and insubstantial, no, wait-- carefree and weightless that feeling can be. It’s why it eventually leaves us in an unfamiliar and devastating place. It left me somewhere so toxic it felt like my lungs were collapsing out of grief. I went from a hot mess to a very cold one. It was terrible.

What this is, is a desperate need for some form of closure. I can’t go back to what is (even for us) essentially dysfunctional. I have a life to live regardless of everything and regardless of how empty it feels. I beg you to at least fill it up a little by granting me an unequivocating and honest last word. If we can’t have it the old way, then let me down. If you’ve moved on, tell me. Because you’re tainting my every day by existing as you were when I last saw you. All I ask is one more glimpse of your former self to rid me of this rotgut. Thanks for reading.

Yours,
You-Know-Who