This is how it ends, with me realising that my first serious mistake was meeting you. Liking you was not optional; I kicked and fussed and yelled then settled into it. Trusting you was neither a surprise nor a miracle, I trust people easily. A high school teacher once called me naïve. But that’s beside the point.
Another mistake was knowing you. Learning you. Just seeing you. Your glassy eyes, how you smirk a little when telling jokes, your story. Each chapter was devastating and new and strange and when I was done I was left breathless. Only to find out that that was just a volume, that there are many more.
And then came the possibility that among those volumes there was one titled ‘you and me.’ How could I not want to read it? devour it? drown in the craziness of it all?
So came the kisses. And the fights. And the long conversations. The confessions. The confusion. The times we just sat in the same room alone and did and said nothing. Just stared at each other from time to time. And all along I knew I was setting up myself for a deep fall. But all the while I enjoyed the volume, my best yet.
Then came the day I began to cry because of you. I cried when you moved on from our little games. I cried bitterly. Everyday. I couldn’t believe it. Crying over a guy had always been a disgrace and a taboo in my rulebook. I began hating you. You flew high blindfolded, only to remove the velvet around my eyes, let me enjoy the view for a second and then drop me and watch my fall.
I hated this chapter of hating you. This is the chapter where I read out loud all the insecurities you imbedded in me. I can’t seem to stop asking why I wasn’t enough for you, I can’t stop myself from finding fault not in our stars, but in me. I compare myself to the new and old girlfriends and regret all the flaws the comparison highlights.
But then the hate has subsided, and I realise that I love you all the more. I realise that I still stare at you when you’re not looking. I realise that my favourite moments are those spent with you. I realize how I will do anything for you. How ready I am to fight with and for you. I realise that though I try, my legs have been turned into lead and I can’t run away as my friends have so helpfully advised. At least not yet.
So I stay, reading all the pages to myself before I sleep. Some surprise me, others not so much. Others make me want to grab your hand and never let go. Others make me wonder what the hell I see in you. Others show me exactly what.
This is how it ends, with me realising that life is beautiful and you are part of the portrait. So I read your story but I also write mine, and it is only a matter of time before I heal and move on from writing about you. This is how it ends, with a long, winding letter posted to the world but written to you.