Giving in and writing what I’ve been afraid to for the better part of a year. Hopefully getting past the fear-driven writers block will get things flowing again. Originally dated 10/05/25.

I keep trying to think of things that I want to write about that don’t somehow lead back to You. 

I want to write, I do; I love writing, but everything that comes out of my head, or whatever idea that sparks the desire to sit down and type, I know will just lead back to you anyways. 

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It’s made me afraid of the blank page. I don’t like feeling afraid. So I’m finally leaning into it.

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I can hardly do anything without you creeping into my mind anyways; it’s a quiet, soft torture that I secretly hope will never go away.

I think it all comes back to you because my soul of soul and heart of hearts, still, in their deepest depths, believe with an unshakable force that someday you’ll come back to me.

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Actually, fuck the depths. That was a lie. On the very surface, in the shallows; every inch of my heart and soul is still wallpapered with the belief that someday I’ll find my home in you again. 

I wear my heart on sleeve now, and everyone around me knows it’s desire. It drips and oozes and leaves a trail of quiet heartbreak and longing everywhere I go. It’s no secret, and I’m not ashamed of it. Somedays the flow is barely noticeable; others I have to get so high I can hardly see, just so I don’t think of you before I drift to sleep.

I suppose it’s a secret to you, you’re not around me like the rest of the masses who do their best to convince me they don’t see it, who try to hide the pity they have for me. I know it’s there, I just don’t care anymore. Why would I?

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I’ve started living out loud. It’s far better, it’s far worse, it’s far messier. I’m getting so much more out of life. And it’s made me so vulnerable; and I’m rejecting the concept of “cringe” and embarrassment, it leads to a restricted version of life that I just don’t fuck with anymore.

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I’m so scared that everyone I ever meet will know your name. Most of them already do.

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I want you to see the person I’ve become, so badly. It’s crippling sometimes. Of everyone on this forsaken planet, I want to just jump up and down to get your attention and yell “Look! Look what I’ve done, look at the work I’ve put into myself, look who I’ve become, look how I carry myself and move through life; the person I was when I was with you would hardly recognize herself anymore! You might hardly recognize me anymore.”

And then: “(Don’t you want to try again now? Don’t you want me back? Aren’t you curious?)”

The catch: I know I wouldn’t have become that person if I had stayed; I know that. I needed to get better for myself, but I was trying to get better for you, too. I wouldn’t have had the courage or desire to get better if it wasn’t for you.

It makes sense you would completely turn your back on the person I was toward the end of that relationship. As much as I want to fault you, I can’t.

A naive part of me thought you might wait for me; I can’t count the nights of whispered promises of finding one another again into sweaty skin; tangled limbs; slow, soft mornings, interrupted only by the cat. 

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Why would you say those things if you didn’t mean them in the slightest? Did you pity me that badly? 

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I think your cat would like to see me again. 

Was I an idiot for believing you would actually wait? That you would be curious to know who I am now, the work I’ve done to be better, the love and joy I’ve found for life that I had been missing for well over a decade? I believed you. You instilled such confidence in me that I trusted we would circle back around.

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I should’ve known better. 

I think there’s bits of me that did. 

On that last tearful call, you asked what would happen when someone cool and lovely came along and endeared themselves to me; I just kind of laughed through my tears and told you no such thing would happen, my heart and soul were yours. That ship had long sailed, and frankly, I don’t want it to return. 

(I’ve told you that before. I knew it a long time ago, and it remains true today).

I knew better than to ask the same question back; I wouldn’t make you tell me one more lie in a misguided attempt to protect my feelings from you. You’d already told too many of those over the course of our relationship.

Because of course you were going to find someone else. Or rather, someone else would find out about you. You’re wild, and lovely, and you make too many promises you can’t keep. Your endless pursuit of life is infectious, even if it’s a cover for running from everything in your past, all the things you think of as stains on your life that I knew made you You. I loved you for them, not in spite of them. 

So I knew better than to ask. 

But maybe I should have. 

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I think of you every day. I hope you think of me. You probably don’t. Or maybe you do. I don’t know which would be worse. 

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I left because I was dragging both of us down in my horrifying realization that I didn’t know who I was or what I was living for. You knew who I was more than I did, and that never sat right with me. I was becoming a piss poor partner to you because of it, and I would’ve hated myself if I had given into the selfishness that pressed me to cling to you until we both sunk below the surface.

And I left because I couldn’t stand taking a backseat to a job that you swore up and down you hated, yet still couldn’t prioritize me over when push came to shove. And I know why it had to be that way, I know it wasn’t your fault; and I wish I didn’t blame you for it so much when we were In It. I knew better then, I just couldn’t deal with the Hurt of it all. 

And I couldn’t stand watching what it was doing to You.

You asked me, before you moved across the ocean, so many years ago now, to promise to tell you if I thought this job was changing who you were at your core. I think it has; I’m almost certain it has. 4 years is a long time for something so all-consuming to not change you in that way. But I can’t tell you that anymore; I don’t have the privilege. And why would you listen? 

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It was a sacrifice. I sacrificed you to find myself. I know it was the right choice; if I had become a housewife without a job in a foreign country so we could stay together, I don’t think I would be able to stand myself. And I was terrified I’d become someone you resented, or worse, got bored of. 

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You never actually asked me to move in with you, to move to Germany with you, to live with you and share that life with you in a more permanent sense. I think if you outright did, I would have. I kind of wish you did. I never did feel like you every truly wanted me there and in that life with you; but maybe that’s me interpreting things that don’t exist.

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I sacrificed you, I sacrificed me; I do believe we would’ve run this into the ground otherwise, and I wanted to be able to give us a fighting chance at trying again. I thought you wanted that too; you said you did. 

I shouldn’t have set such a high expectation of you, but god I wanted you to trust this more than anything. I would never had asked that of you, it didn’t seem fair to continue to tie you to me, to ask you to wait while I figured myself out; but I wish I did outright ask. Maybe you would’ve had more faith.

But I saved myself. I saved myself, and fuck I’m so glad I did. 

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In the end your need for security and safety outran any risk you might’ve been willing to take for me. 

Again, I should’ve known.  

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We had a relapse, 6 or 7 months after the initial break. You had plans to come to Paris with my immediate family, who adored you, that we decided to keep. It was the Olympics, a bucket list item for most people; I wasn’t going to tell you not to come, it didn’t feel like my place, and you had paid your own way. I didn’t want you to feel like you had to come, but you did anyways, saying you wanted to, and you wanted to see me and my family.

I was so fucking excited to see you. I felt pretty sure that was reciprocated. We had an amazing time, complete with one show-stopping fight; which, all things considered, I’m amazed it wasn’t more than that. I was so relieved to see some emotion out of you at that point, it didn’t matter which one it was. 

The fight centered around me wanting more time with you, and you really not wanting to see me outside of the contained Paris trip. You were So resistant, I couldn’t understand why; were you already starting to see her? Did I force myself into a situation you didn’t want me in because you were with her? I outright asked; you insisted you weren’t. We had slept together by then again, and spent the better part of two weeks being “together” in Paris. 

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You didn’t want to see me at all after that trip; show up, see the Olympics, see Paris, have some good sex, and then you were ready to be off on your merry way back to Germany, without me. It would’ve been easier on myself if I had heeded your insistence the first time that you didn’t want me around after Paris. Yet I pushed it, and you relented, letting me spend another week with you. 

Hindsight, I’ve never felt more used in my life. It was the Paris Olympics; why wouldn’t you fake me out for a couple weeks so you could go and spend that time? I thought what was felt there was incredibly real. I thought you felt that too. I should stop projecting my own feelings so much. 

If you had asked me to come back to Germany after we parted ways, again, I would have. I was waiting for it, honestly. And again, you never did. After how inviting myself the previous time went, I knew better than to try to do that again. So I tried to cut my losses, and insisted I wanted to stay in the PNW, I was happy there, and couldn’t handle the long distance. I didn’t want to push myself into your life again; I think if you wanted me back, you would have made an effort. I just wish you would have been honest with me about why you didn’t.

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Not even 2 months after our last conversation and you’re onto someone new. 

I should’ve known better. You’ve always needed to be anchored to someone, or something; it makes sense that in the face of a big life shift you found someone (who looks suspiciously similar to me, I’ve been told time and again). It makes the most sense you would seek out someone who has the next decade of their life planned out and tied down. 

I get it. It’s painful to spend so much time alone, but in the end we’re all we’ve got. Why not face yourself? Feel the grief? I thought a relationship that lasted almost 4 years would have warranted more of a mourning period; but what do I know? You’ve done this a lot more than I. 

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So do you tell her you’ve loved her, known her in a past life? Do you tell her you feel a relentless tug beneath your sternum, and that’s how you know she’s the one you’ve been waiting for? That if anything were to come between you, you’d eventually come back around to find her? 

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You had such big dreams for when you got out; how you wanted to distance yourself from the war machine, and be more than just your job. You’ll be done, sure, but you’ve stayed in, in a way. You’re not out and away from it at all, it just looks like it on paper. But maybe that’s enough for you. 

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I don’t really believed you moved on, not that fast. I think you needed a distraction from what we had willingly given up in hopes for better for both of us. I think that distraction turned into a growing comfortability with whoever you had found. I’m sure she’s kind to you, and I think you have a lot in common. But I don’t think you’ve moved on; I think you’ve just outright buried me. 

I’m still there, should you ever feel like sifting through sand.

You would always say you would go and be wherever I wanted as repayment for all the time and travel I gave up for us to work while you were stuck over there. I never wanted you to have that debt hanging over you, to feel obliged to be anywhere just because I was there; why would I? That’s not love. I don’t think you ever heard me when I tried to voice it. It was another reason I let you go. I wanted you to have the ability to freely choose where you wanted to be, not default to wherever I was at the time. It might’ve been fair, but that doesn’t mean it was right. 

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God, I hope you move to Italy. And I hope it’s because that’s where you want to be, not because it’s where she’ll be next. You ended your relationship before me because you didn’t want to be a follower. I respected that so much, took it into consideration before ending it all. What happened to that conviction?

Watching you subject yourself to a different version of that hurts so much. What has she given up for you to earn that devotion? Not the better part of 4 years, or her home, I know that much. What are you searching for?

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We never got a real shot at a genuine relationship, you left too soon and I was stuck in your dust; how are you okay just leaving it at that? Why are you so okay? What are you so afraid of?

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My biggest fear in all of this is the narrative you’ve told yourself about our relationship in order for you to move on so quickly; to toss it to the side in the path you’re tearing through life. I feel like you’ve created a caricature of all of my worst traits, and that’s who you tell yourself you got away from, if only to make coping easier. We both know the truth of what we had. 

I made a lot of missteps. I was so quick to anger, so quick to jump to conclusions; I never gave you the benefit of the doubt, and held onto things that served no purpose. I knew nothing about relationships that I gave a damn about. 

You were so patient with me. I wish you weren’t the first serious relationship I ever had; I could’ve done so much better by you. I still think I did alright, all things considered. We were kind of set up for failure from the start. Imagine what we could have had if 3 of those years weren’t spent hundreds, if not thousands of miles apart. Why aren’t you curious to try it again, from up close? Of course it would be easier; it always was whenever I could make time to get over to you.

One could argue that I had good reasons to be so dubious and afraid of what you could do to me. I’m so goddamn tired of that narrative. I don’t do that shit anymore, it does no good and serves no positive purpose to anyone. Holding grudges is exhausting; forgiving and moving on to enjoy life is so much better.

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I’m not afraid anymore, I choose not to be that person anymore. I didn’t like her very much anyways, in hindsight. She operated in most situations in fight or flight, but she didn’t know any better. She was pretty insecure. Most of it stemmed from no sense of self, but I didn’t know that at the time.

I was so dependent on other people, on You, for worth and value. But operating like that means any misstep is terrifying; any lie or hurtful (or truthful) thing out of your mouth felt like the world was crashing down. It’s why I could never take any responsibility for things I had done. I never thought myself as worthy of anything – nothing that I couldn’t quantify, at least – and how do you quantify someone’s love? I wish I hadn’t tried. I think I would have been kinder to myself, and to you. 

I was completely dependent on you for my worth. And that is exhausting. And I am sorry, to both of us.

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You were far from the perfect partner, to be clear, but it’s all in the past. I wish you trusted me more. I wish you lied less. I wish you could see how much of a toll your job took on not just you. I wish you considered my feelings a bit more, even when they made you uncomfortable. Your ability to compartmentalize and just, not feel when things got hard was the loneliest I ever felt in that relationship. I wish you knew so many things. You were so, so good for me. 

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And then – 

You’ve been deeply, (hopefully unintentionally) cruel to me since you decided you couldn’t handle waiting out the hurt anymore, and turned toward someone who offered companionship. You wanted to be friends; if this is how you treat your friends, I want no part.

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You reached out on one of the hardest days of the year for my family, with a kind, lovely message that was filled with subliminal feelings. I responded in kind, took a chance putting the feelers back out there, telling you how much it meant to receive that from you. I was hopeful, why else would you reach out so thoughtfully? 

You never got back to me. Not even an acknowledgement of receiving a response, in what you well know is a deeply emotionally charged time for me and my family. Just, silence. Not even a mention you were seeing someone else, to save me the free fall that was about to take place. Did you treat that day of mourning as a fucked-up channel for your own closure?

Instead you let me reach back out, pour my heart out into what I assumed was still a safe place for me, because I believed you when you said it, only to find nothing but empty static. Shortly followed by a posted video of you making out with my doppelgänger to one of my most favorite songs on New Years Eve. 

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(A friend reached out that morning in surprise, asking when I had decided to go to Germany to new years, how long I was visiting you for. I hope I never again have to feel what I did when I made the heartbreaking explanation that it wasn’t me, and it was news to me as well). What the actual fuck.

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I don’t know what kind of intense compartmentalization lends itself to allowing one to show such vulnerability and love and compassion towards someone, only to shut off all emotions so completely that I didn’t cross your mind just days later. 

Did you do it on purpose? Did you flay me open, lay me vulnerable atop the stone, carefully deconstructing those walls and barriers like only you know how, only to ensure that that final blow was delivered in the cruelest way possible? It seemed like it. Nothing else makes sense, really. I just want to know what I did to deserve that. It makes me so sad. I’ve never felt worse. I thought you still cared for me, even on some small level. How hard was it to mention you were seeing another person when you initially reached out? Did you need the validation that I still loved you, despite you moving on? Did It make you feel mighty?

I hated you, for a while. I contemplated doing some pretty shit things that day. I think I was drunk for 3 full days. I didn’t understand what I had done to you to deserve that treatment; it was cruel, unintentional or not. It was almost worse that I didn’t cross your mind. But you never were able to focus on whatever wasn’t right in front of you. She was right in front of you, even if it wasn’t as deep as what we were unraveling. 

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And I still look back on you fondly, and would do anything to feel you close to me again. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. 

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You need to know that I See It now, I See how I was, how it hurt us. You need to know that I apologize. I wish you could know, I wish you would trust the work I’ve done enough to entertain the thought of me in your life again. I know why you would construct such a derogatory image of my past self in your mind if it made it easier to mindlessly fall into another person because it felt good in the moment, and not take another risk on me.

Maybe I should do the same, but I can’t. I’m glad I can’t yet, actually.  My ability to love is what sets me apart, I think.

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Every time we have interacted since, I’ve tried my best to be nothing but kind and respectful to you. 

Being Kind is what I pride myself on more than anything, it’s the best part about me, and I love it so much. I love myself so much; I know how much value I have now, and I don’t need anybody to confirm or deny that. And it feels so exceptionally good.

Yet sometimes I can’t help but wonder if I’m being kind and encouraging toward you because I do genuinely want you to find happiness in this life; or if I show you such kindness and empathy because I want you to see who I am now, be curious enough to ask about me and Know me again. 

I think you’re afraid it will upset the current plans you’ve got for your life. But what’s the point in having set life plans if they leave you to live at the whim of someone else? 

You were always the one that reached out first and took chances on me and us; I was never brave enough, even though you were the softest landing pad. I know now that if you ever chose to reach out a hand, or take a step, I would be right there. Now I would reach out and try my luck every damned day if I wasn’t afraid of disturbing your peace. You’re worth that effort 100 times over, and I never showed you that when I had the privilege to. 

It’s one of the biggest regrets I have for that time. 

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It could be so good, I know it would be good. Still hard at times, of course, that’s life, and that’s love. But I swear to god, or the universe, or the marine fossils that reside at 14,000 feet in the Elk Mountains, or whatever it is you believe in, that I Get It, and I believe in you. I think we could be wonderful, and beautiful, and terrifying to those around us, in the best way. It’s so easy to see incredible things for the two of us, should you ever want it again.

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Is this just a normal reaction to a first great love, having never had that before? Maybe your love wasn’t that exceptional, but it’s what I knew best. It’s hard not to miss it.

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If you’re through, if you’re truly done, I know there’s nothing I can do to make you change your mind, and I won’t try. I can find someone, I’m sure I will find someone, I’ll be content and happy to have a partner to love and be loved by in this life, and share all the dips and bends with. There’s so many wonderful beings out there, how couldn’t I? I’ve done so much work that I know whoever I love next is going to be so, so lucky.

I’m not worried, or in any rush, either. If there’s something I’ve learned this past year, it’s that there’s no use trying to force anything; whatever is meant for me will come find me in time, when I’m ready for it. And why would I deny myself that love when I so deserve it, and I’ve got so much to give? My heart may be stuck with you for now, but it would be naive to think it would all begin and end in one go with you.

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And yet – I’ll always live with the knowledge that if you ever came back, I don’t think I could ever deny myself You.

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Life is so short, and joy is fleeting, and the only thing I’m pretty sure of is that I’ve loved you time and again before. If it all got too fucked up in this lifetime, then I’ll make peace with that, and wait until the next go-around. You may not want it, but my heart is yours, at least for now. You can’t get rid of it, I’ve tried. I think I’ll get there someday; but now is not that time.

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I don’t regret leaving to find myself and who I’ve become as a result; quite the opposite. I’m so, so thrilled with who I am, and I know that wouldn’t have come if I moved to Germany with you.

I’ve become this big, beautiful person who loves themselves and being alive so, so much; you’re the person who catalyzed that for me, and you’re the one person I want to show this new person to more than anyone. 

It’s a terrible, tragic mistake of life.

Because I can’t. So I try to show everyone else around me; the community I’ve begun to attract and invest in is wonderful, and I’m so pleased with how I’ve decided to start living. I’m so, so proud of myself.

So go on, live out your life. I’ll be here for you to come home to every time, if you choose; if you ever want to try again. This lifetime, or the next, or the next; I don’t think I’m that hard to find. I’d give anything for you to let me love you in the interims of life. 

In the meantime, trust that I’ve found myself and I am happy with the life I’m building for myself. I’m trying to make the most of every day I have, including this confession, and I’ve never found such beauty in life. I’ve never been happier.

TRACKS:

Whateverrr – Spacey Jane

Two Days In February – Goo Goo Dolls

Only Time Makes it Human – King Princess

Edge of the Earth – The Beaches

Meticulous – Rainbow Kitten Surprise

Back in Town – Annie DiRusso

Heart Like A Hometown – Keith Urban 

Supercut – Lorde

Better Days – SZA