To all the boys I sort of liked before
There are a lot of reasons things didn’t work out for us. Some of them were because of you, and some of them were because of me.
I gave up on some of you too quickly. I didn’t give you the chance to show me your true selves, or maybe I was afraid that you would expect to see my true self in return. I saw small mannerisms as deal-breakers in a time before I understood that relationships aren’t deals with terms and conditions and a user agreement. Minor incompatibilities felt insurmountable at the time, though if we had spent more time together, maybe they would have seemed smaller or maybe we would have found a way through. I failed to find a spark with several of you, and I didn’t believe then that sparks can appear out of dust, though sometimes embers look like dust until we blow air into them and ignite fire.
Some of you never really knew me because I feared your rejection more than I believed in our potential. You don’t actually know how much I liked you, because I never told you. I hoped you would pick up on the small signals I was giving, or that you would give me an indication that you felt the same way, but you never did. I stayed silent, avoiding the anticipated embarrassment that I believed would cripple me permanently. I was too willing to believe the negative voice in my head that declared me unworthy. I didn’t know then that vulnerability is what draws people together rather than alienating them.
Some of you scared me — you wanted to move faster than I did, or your feelings were more intense than I could handle. At times I went along with your urging, and perhaps I felt swept up in the tide of your desire, or my own. My reactions must have seemed inconsistent and fickle, but I promise that wasn’t intentional. I just couldn’t process my own feelings while simultaneously trying to discern yours. At least one of you wanted to claim a commitment that felt unearned in the brief time we spent together. You felt sure when I was still deciding if I liked you or not, and I didn’t know how to hold that space for you. A few you were ready to plant a flag and declare yourselves conquerers, and I took (and still take) issue with that, as I am a whole person all on my own, and offer nothing for you to conquer. I wish you well and hope you have learned along the way that many challenges can be surmounted, but a woman is not one of them.
To those disappeared without explanation, vanishing into the ether when I leaned into feelings of perceived mutual affection — I forgive you. Some of you faded as the sun sets, in fractions until the sky becomes dark. Others vaporized, a rapture of sorts, leaving only old messages as proof that you ever existed. I know you felt that it was a softer landing, that telling me you didn’t want to see me again felt too difficult or mean, and that you worried I might cry or get angry or otherwise demonstrate an emotion that you were unprepared to manage. I hope you know now that you were mistaken — there is no softness there, only the hard ground that meets the fall. But also know that you taught me to be better, kinder. To treat those that came after you with the gentleness and honesty that all soft souls deserve.
We were not meant to last, any of us, but you were important to me nonetheless. I learned about you, from you, and also about myself. You were markers along the trail of my life, helping me to find my way to the next place I belonged. I may not have recognized your lessons in real time, but our experiences together taught me joy, sorrow, desire and being desired, honesty, vulnerability, and, above all, that love for myself is the overarching prerequisite. I cherish the memories of our time together, even the painful ones, because they have brought me to this time and place, which is right where I am supposed to be.
With love.
