This Is Me Trying To Love You Less


This is me trying my best to not think about you. To not blame myself. To not replay in my head over and over again the few happy memories I have of us. The words that sparked the breakup. The words that should have been said to save us. To not think about you and her, to not measure if you seem as happy with her as you were with me. To figure out why I was not enough and why she is.

Maybe for you it was that easy. Maybe you want to make it look easy. Because I would give my soul to know what is in yours.

I’m not sure you ever would. I’m not sure you would ever need to.

I hoped you would show up at the airport. And I know you considered it. You were awake the whole night of my flight. You knew exactly when, where, at what terminal I was going to land.

And I thought you’d show up. With a rose or just with a terrified, shy smile. Shrugging at the impossible gesture that you did. Ready to try again, to say that it was all a mistake done because of the distance, because it was less painful to break up than to bear the uncertainty of not knowing when we would see each other again. I would have taken anything over your absence. I could have hugged you and I would have felt at home again after so many months of being apart. We could have talked for hours, ordered pizza, and kissed. And I would cry, and you’d call me “baby”, and we would fix it.

But you did not.

And I am sorry.

I’m sorry I let fear get the best of me. I will love you forever. I will keep you in a safe place in my heart, and I will tell my kids about the person I was so sure would be their father. The person that is someone else’s father, or husband, or boyfriend, or none of those. The person I am terrified of running into when stepping out of the house. The person that taught me what love is, the person that reassured me when I was terrified of connection. The person that also showed me I need to be more careful of who I open my heart to. The person that was a perfect example of what not to settle for ever again.

This is me trying to pretend I don’t still long for your arms around me, 464 days since the last time I felt them.

This is me trying to explain to everyone what I saw in your soul, hoping they will help you realize what you have within you.

This is me trying to convince myself I will not run into your open arms if given the chance.

This is me trying to love you less.

This is me failing.