Written By Norah.
The news didn’t come as a surprise.
I knew you had moved on. You were always better than me at it. Once one foot was out the door, you were running, not walking. And when you came back, you banged on that door, you didn’t simply knock. This time I walked away, and as I walked, my pace got quicker and quicker. Until I was so far away I could never find my way back and you could never again find me. That door, the one with an imprint of your fist, discolored from all the times your hand met it, was locked with a deadbolt, everything that had happened behind it locked away, in the dark, to be forgotten. Yes, you moved on, but this time, I did too. It was my turn to go and I’ve never looked back.
I’m looking back now. Not because I miss you or because I’m feeling nostalgic for the nights we spent together. Not because I still love you, or because I’m still hoping for another chance for the two of us. I don’t love you anymore. I don’t hope to see you again nor do I have any wish to give it another chance. No, I don’t miss you and I don’t miss me with you. That version of me was I left behind to die when I locked that door.
I don’t even miss the love I had for you. And even if you don’t miss me or the love I had for you, you will at some point. Because I gave you something you will never find again, love that you will never again experience, a love that she could never feel for you. Because she is not me.
So before you marry her, tell her that I loved you.
Tell her that my love for you was unconditional. Tell her that, once, a long time ago, so long that it might just have been in another life in another time, you were loved more than anyone else on this earth. Tell her that you’ll never be loved like that again. Tell her that you were made a God on earth, that you ruled the kingdom I created when I sat you on a golden pedestal above everyone else. And tell her what you did with it. Tell her that you took it and left it on the side of the road, more times than once.
I couldn’t give you what you wanted, and that’s fine. I’ve come to terms with that. Our puzzle pieces just didn’t fit, our flaws were just too different to be able to reconcile. The things I wanted were just too big for you, you couldn’t make out a clear image of them in your mind, you didn’t understand them. They seemed funny to you, unrealistic. You seemed to calm the thunder inside me, to make everything quiet, to hold me down to earth. I thought of your affect in a good way; that you were there to keep me grounded to not let me disappointed by my dreams that were too wild to be obtainable, to save me from the pain my restlessness would cause me when I fell flat on my ass. I thought you were there to do me good. But that wasn’t the case. You wanted me on the ground and you kept me there in any way you could. So I learned to love the earth, because that’s where you were, and I stopped looking up at the sky because I was convinced that I didn’t belong among any stars. And even so, I loved you.
She doesn’t love you the way I do. She can’t.
The love I had for you was intense; it was selfish and selfless at the same time. It was destructive and liberating, confusing. I lost myself in it. I drown in it and was revived, each time we were together, as something else, someone else. I worshiped you and resented you at the same time. I adored you for all we could be and I hated you for all you wouldn’t let us be. Tell her I would have sold my soul to spend eternity with you. Tell her that now, after all you did, an eternity of solitude and begging would not be enough to bring me back to you.
But you weren’t good for me. I wasn’t good for you either. You brought out a version of me, a dimmed light. A light that was so low that you became the dark that surrounded me. We were bad for each other.
Maybe she brings out the best in you, all the things I hoped were there. Maybe, with her, you created all that I thought you possessed already. Maybe she’s your other half; the concept of which you didn’t believe in when we were together. Maybe your hopes and dreams are common and there are no gaps where they meet. Maybe you’re not just settling with her, maybe you actually love her. Maybe you’re finally capable of feeling all I felt for you.
Before you marry her, tell her I loved you. Tell her how, and how much, I loved you. Tell her that I was yours long before she knew you, long before you knew you. Tell her that I held that hand, threading my fingers through yours, before it ever touched her. Tell her that long before you loved her and decided she was the one you’d spend your life with, you branded your name on my heart and soul. Tell her that you’ll never find a love like mine again. Tell her I was the one that closed that door and locked it, banishing you forever from what was once only yours. And tell her you were never worthy of it either.