u/Haunting_Maybe_3826

literally every time down the boardwalk home when I got tipsy younger decades ago.

Because I did it again as an actual adult and I could pinpoint the exact cause and familiar feeling.

You were not a safe person.

I needed to escape you to be safe in the haven I built while you flip flopped back and forth with my heart.

You, a dancer:

Back and forth, repeatedly. Giving crumbs of yourself that I celebrated as a feast. You saw mud in the beauty of the people taking care of me. Recreated memories that I was shocked to see were not of own my special recollection to hold, but just a part of your script, repeatedly. She was sitting at the bar with you; would you/did you take her home already?

And then you got desperate after decades and voiced your caged words only to retreat and blame me. You had a whole girlfriend while I was traveling every weekend to see you. I worked so hard while navigating independence from my parents to keep you:

You were never mine to keep.

What kind of therapy best suits me now?

I wish I could have met you in other circumstances; you deserved that welcome to honor your whole, wholesome, beautiful being. I wish I could undo what you were told, maybe that I needed to be saved, I was broken, I don’t know.

I’m sorry that I didn’t put two and two together (or maybe I’ll even be honest with myself here and say a part of me knew I deserved better and wanted to indulge, but my brain wasn’t developed enough to know it would hurt you in the process).

You always respected a silent boundary and distance even as everyone around us labeled unrequited love; you held calm and unexpecting. You never asked anything of me. You never touched me. You taught me to break bread and nourish my body to keep me alive for years beyond those you had. You, effortlessly dopamine booster, ready with adventures, tried your best to just make the head clatter stfu all while giving so much of yourself with a broken person giving unequally in return.

Did you do all of this knowing you had cancer? Sometimes I think our creators can be so cruel; I’ll never know your story or your pain but I do know: I wasn’t there for you. You slept outside my apt to make sure I was safe and I blocked you and your existence to protect hearts who weren’t ready for your arrival. I wish I had been there for you through it. The regret is an anchor that I will carry now. Sometimes in my quiet, dark places I wander towards “the only person who ever truly loved and honored me and not just my body is dead” but I know you wouldn’t accept this trail of thought. Your softness centers me still; I don’t think you would be happy with me sending letters to ghosts and hurting my body daily so I’ll try to do better tomorrow.

If I had known that you would pass away in less than a decade, if I had any part in that pain, from not loving you back in the way you deserved, I would exchange your place in the afterworld for my own here, when you were called.

I had no idea you passed away until I read it on a screen in a casual scroll and my heart “cracked,” as my son says.

(I no longer believe in no contact for fear of more self-realization of selfishness heart cracks.)

I take mental breaks when I need them, hurt and live on to have children that you didn’t get to but deserved to have because you were, and in my memory, are still, one of the kindest hearts molded and intentionally refined (thank you for these lessons although I am slow). Your children would have been resilient, strong, adventurous, and kind little water babies with you at the helm.

Your soul dissipated into the ocean on a surfboard eating lentils in a dry town but your face and being last for decades. I love you and I’m deeply sorry. I wish I had more clarity to not hurt you, and I would do anything to make it right for you in the short time you had left. I hope if souls float around I find you in another time, and this time, I would hold out my hand.