I Write this for You*
This piece first appeared on The Last Girl
Trust me when I say, I am writing this for you. On this day, ten years ago, I started going in circles with the first girl I fell in love with.
Looking back at the thing, I do realize it was mostly out of my insistence; I was too stubborn to let go of the stupid crush and I held on to what I could, mistaking my ill-advised choices to be assertions of my new-found identity; the pain the force of it caused, for the necessary heartbreaks I thought first loves really came with.
Had I known then what I know now, maybe I wouldn’t have pushed so hard. (But then again, maybe I would have, still.)
Trust me when I say, I am writing this for you. I spent most of the years that came after writing about her and the heartbreak we were eternally in, when we were outside our pretty regular two-week peace time. The thing is, I remember having been happy, but I couldn’t find anything I’ve written on the subject.
I used to say I insisted on writing about us because she was constantly pushing me out of her story; I realize now how one-sided the history I wrote about us really was. I almost feel like saying sorry, now. I used to think I’d never reach this place of apology but then I may be wrong, soon.
Trust me when I say, I am writing this for you. I used to think my geometry teachers had it wrong when they told me circles never end; couldn’t reconcile that fact with how the circle I had with her ended, repeatedly. If I were to recall what the final straw was, perhaps it was when she broke up with him and then they got back together anyway after a few months. In the interlude between, (all of three, four months) I thought I was presenting myself as the likely alternative, finally, and looking back I want to just hug myself for being a delusional 20-year-old.
That was a rather heavy heartbreak; that was eight years ago and I recovered about a year and a half later, around the same time I considered seriously pursuing The Girl Now. I moved out of the apartment that housed all the ghosts of her, started anew in a city at the opposite end of the train.
I stopped seeing her, eventually. I haven’t seen her in six years. I have no plans of seeing her again.
Some nights ago I stumbled upon an old blog entry I wrote in early 2006; it was one of the earliest entries I wrote about Andrea, and it told of a dream I had of her. At the time I was still going around in circles with that other girl. A year later I found myself flirting with Andrea, and months later, we got together.
Six years later, here we still are.
I’m saying this because it’s true — after a while, things do change.
I think I read it from something by Michael Chabon, the thing about all past love being absolutely incredible. I used to fear that I would never be able to view my ex-girlfriend with eyes that are entirely not in love with her altogether, but right now, I am confident that I can bump into her randomly and see her with completely new eyes.
It took me several years to get here, but the thing is, here I am.
Trust me when I say I am writing this for you: Today it feels like it will never end, but one day you will wake up and find all of this already so far away, and none of it will ever mean this much any longer.
_____________________________________
* This was originally an open letter to a younger friend, from a younger self. suffice it to say, here now, many years later, she is already in a much better place. Circles closed, and all. And now, I am reposting this for you.
