I’m In Love with Who We Were
I went to San Francisco last week. I walked the steps of our first date, and of our last. I took a picture of the bench where we shared our first kiss. I hiked the peak we went to on our last night together. I bought a book from the bookstore we went to. Unlike our dates, which had exclusively been at night, I saw these special places with new eyes in daylight.
To think that we are coming up on two years since the day that we first matched on Tinder. You didn’t expect to care so deeply for me in such a short amount of time. I didn’t expect to care at all.
And neither of us expected to be in the situation we are now. We are an inter-continental love, a person we mutually pine for across the seas, in our minds, and never with our words. You tell me you think of me often, several times a week, in the privacy of your mind. I don’t tell you I think about you every moment of every day. And how I wish we could have had a different story. A story where we weren’t separated, where we didn’t have this lingering flame between us… That we could have caught fire, raged on, and burned out to an end, like normal people.
Instead, we said goodbye without actually meaning it; kept in touch exclusively through Messenger — shared our minds, our experiences, our feelings. Went through hard times together — more mine, than yours — all the while silently keeping our relationship to ourselves.
You saw other people, I did too. You were a topic I often discussed with friends who didn’t understand. I was a topic you never discussed, except with a friend who tried to understand. I’d endure eye rolls, grimaces, and threats to beat your ass from my friends, upset at how you treat me. But, I’d also endure sighs, smiles, and touches to the heart, shocked about how trivial and Hollywood our story seemed.
And it is Hollywood. Because like in Hollywood, it’s completely unrealistic. It wasn’t always that way.
Once, we were innocent. Once, we were in the same place, had late night adventures, inside jokes, silly moments. Once, there were butterflies and sparks, and a surprising relation to all love songs I heard. Once, we enjoyed each other, explored our feelings and experiences, and said things without regret. Once, there weren’t other people involved that complicated our relationship. Once, we didn’t have to carefully choose our words to not compromise our integrity. Once, you didn’t have to worry that I liked you more than you liked me.
Once, you told me I pulled back the curtains in your life and made you care when you didn’t think you were capable of doing so. You told me you were better off knowing me, than not knowing me at all. And despite how ugly our relationship has become, we both can’t let go, because of what we had.
From one perspective, holding on is a disservice to our memory. From another, letting go is the cowardly way out. I’ve adopted this numb attitude. Take me, or leave me, I say. I will be fine either way.
But, a part of me knows that to not be true.
We tried ending it… Well, I did. And then, like a hopeless romantic, I came back. You tried to not take me back, but then lost and did anyway.
One more time, you say. Just one more time. One more time I’ll talk to her, one more time I’ll see her, one more time I’ll kiss her.
When did I become just a “one more time?”
We both know the truth. We both don’t want to face it.
We both know I deserve better. We both know you don’t deserve me. We both know I care more for you than you do me. We both know that this fire will not free us, but destroy us.
We both know this is not what I want. And therefore, this is not what you want.
And yet? We continue to dance around saying that we do.
I am not ready to walk away from this because I’m so in love with who we were, and who we made each other to be. I go back to that starry night on the park bench where I pulled back my curtains to bare my soul, and surprisingly, you did too. You’re right, I am loving a ghost. I know I am loving a memory. But I also know that you can’t.
So.
What do we do now?
