Dear You

Dear You,

Surprised to hear from me? Probably not. Does that really matter, though? Never once have I chosen not to tell you what’s on my mind regardless of your feelings about it. I read somewhere that it takes at least eleven weeks to get over a break up. Best believe, I’ve counted each day. Though I’m not even sure it counts a break up. It seemed more of we mutually but exclusively decided we could not take more of the other’s bullshit. Do I regret that decision? Not at all. It’s where we were and that’s how I felt. Do I miss you?

 

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Like OJ Simpson misses white women.

I’m sure writing this just adds to your belief that I’m batshit crazy.  But days, weeks, months have flown by, but you remain in my head. On my mind. This shadow that no man I meet seem able to compete with. Yet you are the stubbornest of jackasses I’ve ever encountered. All a man should have to do to succeed you is answer a direct question. We know how incapable of that you are.  But reminiscent of the mule your behavior resembles, you stand immovable at the core of me.

Do I believe we’re good for each other? If only my answer could be a definite NO. Such a question is not meant for me to determine. Present (and past) circumstances evidence that no, we are not. And I would not return to the way things were. Only God knows all, however. What’s in His plan will be if we allow Him to direct our paths. And I know what and who I want in my life, but those choices are not mine.

There is nothing I am hoping to achieve with this. I’m at 30,000 feet and I’m typing this on my shitty phone as you prefer to describe my Galaxy. It will definitely not be sent to you. Writing is my therapy, and if I do not put the turmoil inside me in word, how could I possibly heal? You were like my favorite bra. I hate that I needed you, but you supported me better than any I’ve encountered so far. Yet there was this broken underwire that I just could not ignore any longer. You may not have noticed the damage it did because the support didn’t waver. But I did for the pain was sharp and stinging, and the source had to be removed.

That it ended should not be surprising to me. I’m fairly perceptive and nosily observant (or just nosy as you accuse). You need to be responsible for everything in your purview, but your culpability, if you accept any blame at all, is minimal. When you did tell me of your past dating failures, the fault was rarely yours. On the other hand, I am spoiled and can be annoyingly aggressive when I think I’m not being heard. I listen to respond and not to hear. And I definitely don’t need someone taking responsibility for me. I am responsible for my damn self. (Un)Shockingly, my feminism supersedes my femininity more often than it should.

We were doomed. I knew we were incompatible from Week One and said as much. But no matter how annoyed you made me or how pissed I became, I always wanted you. And that has yet to change. It would be a blessed trait to be able to keep my feelings inside, to be  apathetic and move on without a backwards glance. That’s not how God chose to make me. He made me open and honest and unafraid to feel or to risk having doors shut in my face because I believe in the possibilities on the other side. (He also made me temperamental with a a sharp tongue that the devil gets a hold of too often, but you know…balance.) Accordingly, there is just something I needed you to know…you are a tough act to follow.

Nicki

No soundtrack today. I’m sure you know what song plays in my head.

Author’s Note: Writing this was deeply personal for me. As I’ve mentioned before, I keep a hardcover journal where I keep writings I choose to not or I fear to share on this site. I’m fearless in my quest for 1 Corinthians 13, and sometimes, my quest ends in failure. And that failure disappoints and the hurt is slow to dissipate. Yet I feel certain that I am not the only woman person who has felt or feels this way. A good friend read a draft of this for me last night and she believed I should post this because we live in a world where “the one who cares less, wins.” There is nothing winning about causing someone else pain, intentionally or not. Hopefully, it relates.

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