this is me moving on

scarabuss

Stephen,

I'm writing you to tell you that I'm moving on. Which may or may not mean anything to you, but honestly that is beside the point. Writing this letter to you is more for my sake, and pretty much has less to do with you receiving it and more about me writing it. You see I am a true master at not dealing with things. I'm sure you could see that, I'm not fooling anyone so I'm not going to fool myself anymore. I push all the hurts and the scars and the less than lovely things into deep recesses in my mind to forget about. That is until something small and insignificant arises that reminds me of whatever it is tucked away into those neat little boxes in my mind turning me into a complete mess once again. I can never move forward because of this. You once said you wanted to see me fly. In order to do that I have to deal with all the shit that's weighing me down and keeping my feet from leaving the ground.

I have the chance to be with someone good. Someone who is genuine and has the time and patience to deal with a girl like me. Someone who I believe I can open up to, and not use whatever I say against me. I've realized that I need to learn to love the things that are good for me, and he might very well be one of those things. So in order to not fuck up this beautiful opportunity for happiness, I need to deal with us. Here I go...

I do not know why I feel attached to you. It's not like we were together very long. And it's not like we were even together. maybe it was the first night with you. Perhaps it was riding on a motorcycle for the first time. Or walking through the darkness to the waterfall. Or you scooping me up in your arms and that first kiss. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that I did not feel afraid at all with you. You spent that whole night with me on my tiny uncomfortable couch, and in the weeks to come I would memorize the sound of you breathing. And when you talked in your sleep and it sounded like "I love you." which made me laugh. Mainly because I knew that's not what you said. It was probably just gibberish, but it made me wonder if perhaps I would want you to tell me those words in the future. I never thought that we would top that first date. And for a while we didn't come close. Until that night you showed up on my doorstep without warning because you knew my heart was breaking. And you sat with me outside and let me cry and didn't force me to talk because you knew I wasn't quite ready yet.

I think that was when I unconsciously gave you my heart. Because it wasn't about us, it was about me and my brokenness, it was about the well being of my soul and you cared about that. That's what made you different than the others. I tried to tell myself that you used me. Because I know how to deal with liars and pretenders and manipulators. Because I can cry and eat a pint of ice cream and say 'fuck boys' and then get over it. It's much harder to get over someone who at one point cared for me. And I'm not even sure if I know how but I'll do my best. I thought maybe that closure was the answer. But I don't even think this idea of closure even exists.

"Closure" is just a term created by people so they can ask the same questions over and over hoping that someday they might get a different answer. I don't need any answers. I never really understood why you didn't want me anymore, and perhaps I never will, but that doesn't really matter. Because the fact is that you didn't want me anymore. And all I can do is accept that. And I do, I accept that. I'm not going to forget about you. That's not my goal here. My goal is to be able to look back on everything objectively and remember the things I learned about myself and the things I learned about people and life without feeling the pain that goes a long with these kinds of things.

So finally, this is me moving on. This is me wishing you well in whatever you pursue. This is me wishing you joy and happiness. And to one day, perhaps, being friends.

-Kate.