Read 4:17 AM

Actually I didn’t read it at all. I didn’t even open it. I waited until it was pushed so far down into my inbox that it was no longer justified by the haunting glow of an unread message notification.

I didn’t open it because I am no longer curious about the content.

Not because I’m sad, or mad, or spiteful. It’s not because I don’t care or am holding on to letting go.

I didn’t open it because I’m tired.

I’m tired of hearing that you’re sorry. I’m tired of you feeling like I’m the one that got away when in reality you pushed me so far that I couldn’t have found your headlights against the horizon if I tried.

It’s because after everything we’ve gone through I’m tired of entertaining the idea that there’s a future for us of any kind.

We can’t go back to the way we were or the way we should have been because we are no longer those same two people who fell for each other over white wine in shaker bottles. Nor are we the same ones who fell out over everything else.

We can’t go back to being friends because we never were.

I’m tired of having conversations with you in my head that we’ll never be able to bring to life. Because part of you thinks you really might have loved me, but I now know that you only loved the way I made you feel.

You only loved the fact that I stayed when anyone else would have left or the way I would look at you in the morning as if you were the sunrise itself.

And that’s okay. It’s okay that I made you feel like you were enough, because at that time you were. At eight in the morning, sleep drunk and smiling, you were everything I wanted.

What isn’t okay is how you used me as an ego boost and now that you don’t have someone to give you the same love that I did, you think you deserve to have mine back.

What isn’t okay is that you probably couldn’t tell me what colour my eyes are even though you spent so much time telling me how beautiful they were.

They’re green swimming pools in July.

They’re the same colour as yours.

Being so content in unraveling all that I’ve so carefully stitched back together proves that it’s not me that you crave, it’s the feeling of being wanted.

And that’s okay too. But I won’t be the person who crumbles under the weight of that expectation ever again.

I wanted you once and it was my undoing.

The way that I wanted you then is the way I now want for you to do what it is you need to do in order to become the man I know you could one day be. I want you to find a love that makes you feel safe enough to put your dishonesty, selfishness, and insecurity to bed. I want you to be happy, but never at the expense of someone else.

I want for us to one day be able to smile at each other across the room, but we will never get there until we become the people we need to be independent from our shared story.

I didn’t leave your messages unopened because I’m sad, or mad, or spiteful. It’s not because I don’t care or am holding on to letting go.

I didn’t open it because I’m tired of wanting more for you than you do for yourself.

I’m tired of caring so deeply for a heart that hasn’t been mine to care for for longer than it was.

So this is where I leave you.

I’m not the one that got away, but the next one might be.