My Open Letters – The Sixth

Dear ——-,

Caring. Care. I guess in a way it was expected that you didn’t care about me anymore. I do think you did at one point though since I did worry you a lot. But I guess over time that care turned into anger. I don’t know. I honestly wish I knew what made you so angry with me. And it’s not even like one of those situations where ‘if you don’t know I’m not telling you’ or anything like that. Cause I can actually think of and point to in previous letters about how many things you could be utterly pissed at me about. There’s a fair share of them, and I wonder if I do something more wrong each time I actually talk to you. Like I’m just adding another thing to the list of stuff you hate and despise me for.

It is probably weird then to say that despite that I still care about you. It’s more than just care, and it always will be. Regardless of whether we eventually never talk to or see each other again in all our lives. I won’t ever forget you, and I won’t ever stop caring about you, and occasionally wondering how your life is going, how much better off it probably is without me in it.

I can’t say you are totally unique with that though. I care about everyone, and I want to see everyone do well and be happy. I’ll always care about my other relationships, but you are special in one area. And that has to do with the weight I’m holding. Maybe that weight won’t last forever, it might be lessened by someone else coming along, but it’ll always be heavier than any of the other people in my life, from this time and going back, because you are the first person I legitimately fell in love with. Like 100%, there was no doubt for me, and it was obvious to me from really even before the first time we kissed.

I know, that doesn’t mean much. Because you didn’t feel the same way. In some way I’m surprised you stayed around as long as you did. Maybe it was because you were enjoying yourself at the time. I’d like to think that’s why. Kind of like how when you are doing something really boring you constantly look at the clock and are very aware of the time, but something fun just kind of shoots past in time before you realize it. I think that might of happened. And then when things stopped being fun for you, you looked at the clock, and never stopped looking at it.

I really wish I could say I’m sorry for falling in love with you. But I’m not. I am sorry for the stress I put you through, and that I couldn’t be a person you could love. I wonder if that’s some of the reason you are mad at me. Here I was, giving you what love I could muster, but the whole time not giving you a person you could love in return.

I don’t know.

I’ve gone round in circles about this. Why are you mad? Why do you ignore me? Why do you hate me? The problem isn’t that I can’t come up with an answer. It’s that there are a hundred different answers and none of them feel right, none of them feel like they cover it all. Maybe it’s all of them. Maybe I’m completely off and it’s none of those. I just wish I knew. It’s like one of those fates worst than death for me. Out of all the things you have said to me, like not loving me, or not caring about me anymore. The worst of all of them was definitely saying you didn’t know when I asked why you are so angry with me.

I can understand not knowing why. I really can. But understanding your side and reconciling my side doesn’t always match. I can’t ever let you go until I know why you are mad at me. I literally, mentally cannot let you go. I’ll always keep looking back at our moments, wondering what I did where. Whether it was a number of things, or just one. And it’s worse because it’s not like I can just demand you give me an answer to that, especially when you aren’t sure. Which means, I have to make my answer, and when I’m left to my own devices… it’s always bad.

Your answer becomes everything I did wrong, and even things I did right, and things that aren’t clear whether they are right or wrong. Maybe it was the time I was a cunt. Maybe it was when I teased you. Maybe it was when I said I love you. Maybe it was being so emotionally fragile, maybe it was my fluid gender, maybe it was… the same reason I’m saying all this now. Because I have to analyze everything. Because I have to look at the negative, and not always mention the positive.

There’s a lot of things I should be thankful for with you. And instead of saying sorry, I should have been saying thank you. There are so many things I should have said thank you for. All the rides, the weekends, the walks, to see you happy, your reactions and facial expressions, your lips and kisses, your understanding, sharing your past, sharing your life with me, and especially all of our simple moments.

If there was definitely anything I would redo, it would be to say thank you more. I said love you enough, and sorry far too much, while thank you sat on the side lines most of the time.

So thank you. You have no idea how much the things you did for me has helped or changed me for the better. And you probably never will. But thank you.

Signed,

The Imp

P. S. Terra says Hi.