I cannot accept the ending.
I (17F) still struggle with how it all ended with her (F).
For some context, I started a new school in 6th grade because I was going through a lot because of my environment. I was quickly accepted into the class and I’ll be forever grateful for who they formed me to be. I entered a friend group with my crush, who’ll we’ll call M, and her friend, E. I had never had a proper friendship until then, so they were extremely important to me. Some things happened with me and another classmate, I, and I figured out I were into girls. I remember the day I fell for her so vividly it’s tangible. We were laying next to each other with a few other friends on a large swing. I was wearing my yellow fall jacket, she was wearing her dark red one. I became strongly aware of how close we were and in a single moment, my heart fluttered. My aching back from the swing suddenly didn’t matter, and I didn’t want to get up. She wore no perfume at the time, but she carried such a recognisable scent I will never forget it. Her acne, her slightly askew nose, her eyes, her brown beautiful hair, all became characteristics I became obsessed with. And I do mean obsessed. I loved her deeply. I loved a version of her that I made in my head. And as I fell deeper, our distance grew further. I don’t know if it’s a result of my awkwardness or that she became uncomfortable being around me— I feel guilty for both. Maybe it was neither, perhaps it was simply time that drifted us apart. Either way, I became more and more dependent on any sign that she’d give, which I’m sure were unintentional. She doesn’t like women. If I knew that earlier on perhaps I could’ve moved on. But it was in ninth grade I realised. That day I cried and cried for hours upon hours. I slowly began moving on, but it wasn’t until the end of tenth grade the distance allowed me to breathe. Back in sixth grade she would give me a goodbye hug at the end of every school week. Yet at the end she didn’t even tell me a farewell.
Years of yearning, hoping, crying, finally over. Yet it wasn’t. It feels so incomplete. It doesn’t make sense to me that a story ends without a proper ending. Without anything close to an answer. What was all the suffering for, if there came nothing of it? But I suppose getting an answer would require me the courage to tell her. But even now I value what we have and fear what we could lose, even if it’s nothing. I don’t even need her to love me. I just want to be remembered as strongly as I felt for her, but I know I’m not on her mind. And I just need to accept that. But show can I begin to close a wound that I refuse exists? I can’t accept what feels unacceptable. I have a girlfriend who loves and cares for me, and I know she’s better than the ideal person I made of M in my head. I’m being immature and selfish, I know, and my only excuse is my lifelong insecurity. I would write so much more and I could spend hours talking about M, but it’s far too late for me to think rationally.