Is it possible to decide what they do, give them personality traits, etc? Or is it "take them as they are" kinda deal? I'm just wondering if I can actually interact with the characters in the book I'm writing 😅
I have been yours since we were 16. I have always wanted only you.
I'll always support you in every dream you have. I'll always be rooting for you to have nothing but the best in life. I'll always love you and cherish you from afar.
Take care, my love.
So ... Yeah.
Missing him was bad enough. I guess I also really needed to get railed out of my mind, and only he knows how to properly do that.
And towards the end of those 3 days of course we both got heartbroken all over again.
Not feeling super proud of myself right now.
I was the one who initiated NC a month ago. He just sent me tickets to a concert in August and asked me to go with him. It's a band we have both loved and bonded over since we were teenagers (we're 33 this year).
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I have no idea what to do or say. Ive missed him like crazy every single day for the past month. And I think he's the love of my life.
None of my secrets are in any way harmful. They're just secrets. For some reason, it feels important to me that I keep a lot of things about myself to myself. Like what I dreamt about last night or what cafes I like to go to by myself.
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It feels like I can't function without keeping a lot of secrets. I really dont understand why.
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Anyway, I guess that would kind of drive you, of all people, a little crazy.
And I accept that. I accept that he wouldnt "tick all the boxes".
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He's not a very level-headed person. He's quick to panic in bad situations, either that or get frustrated and give up.
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He wouldn't be the best father. Given the way he himself was raised, he would probably never tell our kids "no", never discipline them, always spoil them and give them whatever they want. That's the opposite of how I was raised. I'd be the "bad cop" parent and that's not ideal.
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And he isn't very realistic with his expectations sometimes.
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I see and take notice of all of these shortcomings.
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The fact of the matter remains that I've loved him for close to 17 years now, and that ive come to realise he truly is the love of my life. But I have to stay practical and understand that this will not work out.
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I still miss him every single day.
It's always going to be hard, explaining to anyone that the first time I met you, we immediately fought and wounded each other.
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We were 16. You hit me so hard that I fell to the ground and opened up a big gash on my knee, which needed stitches. In response I got right back up and kneed you between the legs, as hard as I could. In my mind it was fair. You were so much bigger and stronger than me, and you had picked a fight out of nowhere and nothing.
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The principal called my father and relayed to him what had happened.
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My father, who had raised me in anticipation of bullies. He'd always known people were going to pick on me, and that eventually someone would turn violent.
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All he wanted to know was whether I'd won the fight. He didn't know he was on loudspeaker and that I was in the room (something the principal had thought would stir feelings of remorse in me). I answered before the principal could: Yes, I won the fight.
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Good, my father said. I'm proud of you.
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That was the first time he had ever said such a thing to me. He had accomplished his mission: teaching me how to stand up for myself. I wondered what his response would have been had I not won.
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I'm 32 now. My father turned 70 recently. Sometimes I forget that he's getting old, until the little signs hit me. The way he has to sit down slowly, the growing pile of medications. I wonder if I'll age like him: Having fought everyone, bones now weak and weary, fists still clenched.
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Some time ago, he suddenly brought you up, my love. He said, Remember that boy who tried to beat you up in school? Twice your size. You taught that son of a bitch a valuable lesson about yourself.
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And my father lightly punched my shoulder with such immense pride. He said, You really are my kid.
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My father never forgot your name. He'd looked into you. The "son of a bitch" who injured me.
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When my father looks at me, he sees not me but a younger version of himself, having to fight off the world on his own. I've heard about his youth. But only from other people, never from him.
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Only a couple of months after that conversation, I picked you up at the airport again, my love. Both of us practised immense self-control until we could be in the privacy of my car. As soon as the doors closed our lips were all over each other. You said my name, over and over and over.
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At home, wrapped around each other, my chin on your chest, we mapped out our impossible future together. You dreamed up different ways I could move to your city, and also ways you could move to mine.
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We have kept each other a precious secret for half our lives, drifting in and out of each other's journeys, kisses stolen in solitary moments. Each of us wanting more and more as the years went by. And always, there being a reason there couldn't be more.
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Love doesn't survive such prolonged secrecy. Love doesn't survive the baggage that you have, or the walls that I've built around myself.
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It's been 17 years and the scars from our first meeting have turned white on my knee. My father's fists are still clenched. I keep mine clenched too, just to show him that everything he taught me wasn't for nothing.
My father's in the hospital because of his heart again. My siblings and I have been caring for him, and I'm glad we could lean on each other for support.
But I came so close to breaking NC. Many times over the past two days.
Three things helped me avoid doing that:
Wearing his old baggy T-shirt, for comfort and reassurance. It felt like he was with me even though he wasn't.
Refusing to shut down the most important / enjoyable parts of my day-to-day just because I've been caring for my father. I still took breaks to work out, go home and cook, and do the NYT crossword.
Spoiling and loving on my cat more.
A small success story, I guess.
My dad's heart put him in the hospital again.
It looks, for now, like he's going to be okay. His first procedure went well tonight. The next one will be on either Wednesday or Thursday, depending on his condition.
I was once again the stoic. While my sisters and my mother cried, I stiffly stood by my father's bed, watching the nurses go over his ECG readings and all those chart things. Asking practical questions. Making sure my mom and sisters felt like they could count on me.
My father's asleep now, the GA expected to wear off in a few hours. And in the quiet corridors of this hospital, I wish I had you to talk to.
I know I was the one who sent you away - but only because you hurt me. You invaded my privacy and betrayed my trust. I know you did it out of some bizarre urge to help me, but if you think that was help, you simply dont know me at all.
But still, you're the one I want the most in this world. The only man allowed to touch me. The only one who knows how to hold me. And I need you so, so much tonight.
I'm trying so hard for my strength to not just be a facade for my family's sake. I want it to be real. I want to be strong enough not to reach for you whenever I feel afraid.
But my god, my hands feel so empty without yours filling them.
Yes, I love him for plenty of non-physical reasons. I love him because we've grown so much over the past 16 years and there's just no replacing the presence he had in my life. So yes, it seems reductive and superficial to only focus on his looks.
But that's what I'm thinking about today, apparently. how fucking fine he is. His big shoulders and arms, his beautiful hazel eyes, his gentle smile, his amazing physique.
Shit, first thing that had to go were all the pictures of him on my phone. But I kept an Instax photo of us kissing on holiday. You can only see him from the side but even so, it's apparent that he is a gorgeous man.
God damn it.
An old friend of mine, G, is in town. G has just been through a pretty devastating breakup as well.
I thought maybe we could help encourage each other to stay strong, but he's not dealing with it in the healthiest way. Not only has he left his ex so many venomous texts and calls that he ended up getting blocked, he's also been trying to talk me into breaking my NC as well.
I refused point blank. I know what I need right now and that is time to heal. So now G is trying to get me to go back on the dating apps and rebound, like he has.
That is also not something I am ever gonna do. I swore off dating apps years ago and I also dont do rebounds.
G won't listen to sense and he also won't respect my feelings about what I personally need post-breakup.
So I guess I just won't be spending any more time with him for a while. It sucks, but whatever self-destructive path he's on right now, seems I can't help him out of it.
I came home from a meeting one day and found you asleep on the couch. And I very quietly set my things down and sat on the chair across from you, and I watched you sleep.
And before I knew it, there were tears rolling down my face.
Because what do you mean, we're 32 now? Weren't we 16 just a little while ago? What do you mean you turn 33 in September and I've found adorable little grey hairs on your head and, just like how 16 turned to 32 in the blink of an eye, before we know it we'll be old people?
Baby, where'd all the time go?
And as I watched you sleep, the tears still running down my face, I remember thinking, Please God, let me come home to this sight every day, let me heal all his pains, let me make him laugh every single day. Let me look after him when he's ill and cook all his favourite food for him.
And of course it didn't work out. I'm still angry at you for ruining that perfect week we finally got to have.
But I also forgive you, endlessly, and I love you, I love you, I love you.
It's just like you said. We've always belonged to each other, secretly. We always will.
It doesn't even really make sense, because I'm the one who ended things, but I miss him. Every minute of every day. He's the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about when I go to bed.
And I'm so mad because I agree with him, we ARE meant to be together. He just won't get his shit straightened out.
I love him and I miss him and I'm furious with him.
I've been writing into the void instead of texting him. Journalling, venting on a brand new Reddit account, submitting letters to him (that he'll never read) to The Unsent Project's website, even tried drawing his eyes from memory.
It helps. For now. I just worry what will happen one of these nights.
Tomorrow I'll be brave enough to delete his number, I hope.
... you were everything to me regardless. You still are.
Sixteen years, K., that's not nothing to me. That's literally half our lives.
We were just two traumatised kids who lashed out at each other and then latched on to each other. Then became each other's first kiss, first time, and (as you believe) first love.
What kind of adults have we become since then? Surprisingly well-adjusted, I guess, though God knows each of us has his/her baggage. Both so laden down by grief that our footsteps have grown heavier. But somehow, around each other, the air feels light. Every kiss has healing power.
No, you were never my boyfriend. You've always been so much more than any meaning that word could ever imply.
Every night I think about going back to you. There is a colossal fear holding me back and the fear is that we'll keep going back and forth like this until we start to hate each other.
I don't ever want to hate you. I want to love you for the rest of my life. Even if it means not letting myself have you. Even if it means I never see you again. Even if it means waiting for you to move on.
I know that's fucked.
I love you. I always will. I forgive you for everything. I always will.