::uber feely post i wrote november. posting because, eh, I’d like to give myself permission to be angsty sometimes, even outloud::
I know you’ll never read this. I know because you don’t know me. Or you refuse to know me anymore. Maybe because you’re gone, now, the forever-until-glory-if-i-see-you-there kind of gone. Or maybe you just have no access to this letter.
Anyway, it’s to you, but it’s really FOR the “me”s of the world. Those left behind, cut off, still here, away from you.
I miss you. I think about our long hugs and how you always said you’d never drop me. I think about the one-and-one-half years we spent together and how when we ended, I knew I made an awful mistake, but not what it was or how I could ever make it better. I found the program from your funeral and wondered if anyone else thinks of your every day, and chuckles about how even then we called you “Red.” I don’t let myself look at the pictures of us halfway across the world, when I trusted you with my life, and shamefully also my soul.
I still struggle with your absence. It’s been 5 years. 8 years. 12. 3. You were in my life every day, every moment, every summer, in between. We grew apart, you left me (on purpose) I left you and ran far away, not wondering for years what damage I’d done or how I could have done better. I never thought you’d be gone, you shrugged me off through shadows and lies.
And sometimes I see you. I hear about you. I tell stories of when I held you in my heart and you held me in your arms. I hear you brought up in voices that hold wonder and excitement and – i cringe. I still struggle with how much (how little) to say.
I’m afraid, afraid that some of the people who are in my life my life will be out of my life later, and this letter could just as well be for them. Afraid actually doesn’t begin to describe it.