Love Letter #2

I made this dumb wordpress blog specifically for the purpose of writing about things other than love, and other than men, and other than men I may ever love or have loved. So, I’m not doing so well at that.

It took me a few trials (and errors) to learn to never, ever tell someone that I’ll “always love them.” Because when they inevitably prove they aren’t worthy or deserving, I won’t realize it until some years after the falling-out, and then I’ll feel like a moron for having let some jackass go on the rest of his life thinking that there is even a single atom of me that still gives a fraction of a damn about him. But I know I can’t blame myself; when you love someone, it never feels temporary. It feels transcendent of space and time. It feels like it has to be measured in units of supernovae.

It feels like all that, until it doesn’t. Until he cheats, or lies, or otherwise shows his true colors, and I come crashing back down to Earth. The fall is harrowing, and it lasts months or years, and I’m sure that it’ll kill me in the end. But I land with no impact, upright and on two feet. There’s no crater. I didn’t burn up in the atmosphere. All my molecules are still there, carbon intact. I realize that this mortal human I thought would rip me apart and char the meaning out of my life, in reality, barely even singed me. My soul is wholly untouched by every moment the two of us shared. While we were together, I thought the love between us was the single life-supporting force in the universe. But now that it’s over, and now that I’ve done all the necessary suffering, I understand that it really just wasn’t that big a fuckin deal. 

Only,  I haven’t gotten there with you yet. Maybe I’m still falling. Maybe the gravitational pull of what we had carried me further away from the Milky Way than I realized.

You were the closest to Requited Love that I’ve ever known. I don’t want to say that I still love you, because maybe in another 10 years I’ll look back and balk at the notion of having ever thought anything of you at all. Maybe I’ll think that you were nothing, meant nothing, and had no consequential effect on anything about me. After all; that’s how I feel about every other boy or man or dumbass I ever caught myself thinking I “loved.”

But maybe it means something, that I can’t manage to feel indifferently about you. Maybe it means you were the ~real~ love and those other boys and men and dumbasses were just silly crushes that got out of hand.

I look back on them, and I can’t even seriously believe that I ever cared for them at all.

I look back on you, and I still feel like I’m grieving someone who died – someone who, by all laws of the universe, was supposed to be with me forever, unconditionally. The fact that I can’t call you or text you or see you and tell you that I love you, and hear you say it back, feels like a freak accident. Like a deadly car wreck. Or a plane crash. Or a sudden, terminal illness. It feels like there should at least be a grave site I can go to, to pay my respects to what I thought would be a love measured most efficiently in lightyears. Here Lies… what, exactly? What do I call the thing that died when you left me? And why can’t I yet lay it to rest?

I don’t remember all the last words I ever said to you. I know some of them were harsh, but I also know some of them were “I will always love you.”

It’s November 28, 2016, and it hasn’t proven untrue yet.

May your soul evolve into something less wretched than the one I fell in love with.

Love,

-Leira

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