Aye Spy

In an effort to further torture myself, I started to mentally tally items I wished I could return to him. Photos of us/him on my iPhone, the toothbrush he bought to leave at my place, ya know, my hopes and dreams. When, in the middle of my anger tally, I realized he had something of mine. Something I actually wanted back. My awesome back pack I used in Costa Rica.

I was horrified. I wanted it back dammit, but the thought of contacting him again made me throw up in my mouth a little bit. After conferring with my sanity consultants, the general consensus was shoot a quick email, to the point, no fluff, and ask it to be mailed.

So I did. I didn’t expect a response - or even for him to acknowledge it. I fully expect to receive the backpack mashed up in a manila envelope with no note.

Instead, seconds later, I got: I’m 99% sure I returned it to you. I’m still out of NYC but will look when I get back. I’m sorry I haven’t replied to your wonderful emails. It’s just too hard. I hope you are doing ok.

Now I’m on an emotional rampage. What the hell does he mean by “It’s just too hard”. What’s too hard for him? Ignoring I exist? Cause it seems like he’s doing a bang up easy job of it.

I hate him for running away. And I hate him for saying this is “hard” for him. He decided I wasn’t what was best for him. He’s the one that ran away. So what on earth is hard for you mate?

I want to tell him to go to hell. That no, I’m not doing ok, but you don’t deserve to know that any more. Because you are the definition of a coward. And if you had the guts to actually live your life, instead of wallow in it, I wouldn’t be writing any of this.

But I won’t. Because I have pride and need to move the fuck on.

I’ve had a hard time letting go of the most recent boy. Mostly because there was nothing really wrong with our relationship, he was just deathly afraid of it. Instead of embracing it, he ran away (literally - ran away - as in no longer in NYC). You’d be proud. I called him the coward he is, the idiot he was and constantly said his decision was stupid. Regardless of the harsh truth I tried to reflect, he still ran, and fast. And although you’re shaking your head muttering under your breath “He’s just not that into you…, it is the truth. I’m a stickler for it, even if acknowledging it hurts me. He’s not ready, for me, for us, to be emotionally involved with anyone. And he might never be.

Part of me desperately clings to the thought that maybe, one day (soon), he’ll come to his senses, and when he does, he’ll remember me, us, and come running. Instead of ignoring the reality that when he does realize he’s “ready” for a relationship he’ll probably just leach on the first girl that drifts his way. (Timing’s a bitch)

So I decided to email him, randomly last week, just to say hi. I hope you’re ok. I miss you.

Crickets.

I started contemplating sending another, sometime in the future, if the words still rang true. Just to remind him I existed. I was still here. That I wouldn’t let go of him, our potential, that easily.

Then I stopped. He knows I exist. He doesn’t need to be reminded. I don’t need to tell him I miss him, or wonder about him. He should know, or if he doesn’t, then he doesn’t care anymore. And neither should I.

It’s time to put on my big girl pants and move on.

It’s been two solid weeks since he walked out the door. No promises made to stay friends, or in touch. He’s been so delicately erased from my every day. I catch myself dwelling on the potential of us, instead of the actuality of our history. I force myself to remember our time was brief, even if we both believed our future wouldn’t be.

It’s so hard to let go of him, of us. It’s so rare to feel connected, and get excited about potentials, and egg-shell talks of futures. To cut short the day dreamed adventures, and remind yourself that they never happened, even if you believed with all your might they would.

It’s a big black hole. As if he never existed, we never did.

And it fucking sucks.