I Thought I Loved You
The way we met, I was still naive enough to believe in the type of love that happens from just a strong connection. From 24 hours of starring at each other between rehearsal dinners till finally talking after your cousin’s wedding. We didn’t stop talking for hours, well past when the ceremony had come to a close. You asked for a “ride home” that involved hours of talking first on a park dock over the lake to a movie in my hotel that was just an excuse to keep talking.
You asked me, shocked, to know why I waited until you were leaving to kiss you. And still, the only thing I can think to say is that I was too enamored with how you talked ever to consider wanting you to be quiet long enough to kiss.
I thought I loved you when months later my weekends had become nothing but a matter of how much time I could spend with you. Taking time off to travel to Cannon Beach as a getaway or Portland for your birthday. Anything that allowed us to have time that was together and away from the rest of the world.
I thought I loved when you broke up with me just a few months after that. When you told me you weren’t ready for anything long-term and needed time to heal and figure yourself out, but that you loved me no matter what. That you stayed the night that same time to be with me one more time and make sure I was okay.
Or how later that year when I was looking at jobs out of state, and you sat in my car and cried at the idea of me moving away. You cried and told me you didn’t want me to leave because you hadn’t felt this way about someone before and were afraid the distance and time apart would ruin everything.
I thought I loved you when the following year even though we weren’t dating I rented an apartment specifically with you in mind. The building was one you’d enjoy, the layout was one you’d like. It had the character and charm you’d care about and none of the newness I would naturally go towards. You stayed there with me as often as you could in the first few months of me having the place. When you moved to Seattle, for months, you stayed there multiple times a week. I’d still think I loved you years later as we cried at me moving out of it.
I thought I loved you when you told me you started dating someone new again. You met him on my birthday, skipping going with me to go to a house party. Just another reason I hate trying to celebrate that day. You told me at a concert and then got mad when I left because obviously, you meant far more to me than I have ever meant to you.
I thought I loved you when I told you of the ring I had bought for you, and you broke down on my kitchen floor. Crying and demanding to know why I told you now rather than at the time.
I thought I loved you, when traveling solo across most of the western states I realized I only ever really thought of you. I wondered why it didn’t matter what I did, it was never enough, and surely it must have been my fault. I vowed to tell you, to figure out how to be good enough for you. Only to return and have you tell me how horrible your boyfriend is but that you’re going to do anything possible to stick with him.
I thought I loved you when I was so upset that after days of you being a mess and an afternoon of being in the hospital you went back to someone I’ve had to be your shoulder for so many times. I remember screaming in the car as I smashed the accelerator down and blew past the police officer who would pull me over and make me spend the weekend in jail.
I have spent the last few months in agony over the fact that I will never be good enough for you. Wanting desperately to know where everything went wrong. Why and how you could turn feelings off you claimed you were there. Why and how you could be so unhappy with everyone else and discount me waiting here for you.
It’s my fault, for not being able to handle my emotions for you. It’s my fault, for not being willing to spend the time on me and grow past you. It’s my fault, for always being hopeful and leading with my heart. You know how much I care for you, but you’ve not felt the same way in years, if ever.
I’ve never wanted anything but to make you happy. I know I can’t do that now, and I’m sorry I have tried to be what you wanted and failed so miserably. I would have done anything for you, and you know it to be true.
But I have lied to you about one thing. I didn’t buy you a ring. I bought you two.
Yes, I thought I loved you.
