I don’t want to write about you. I don’t want you to feel hotness under your skin as you realize my words were written for you. I don’t want to rehash forgotten feelings and days of sorrow memories.
I’m not use to being ignored. No. That’s not it. I’m not use to someone who once enjoyed my company, no longer want to be apart of my life. It’s deeper than growing apart. It’s that you removed yourself. I don’t experience that often. It hurts.
This is not what I meant to do at all. I don’t want to share hurt feelings from yesterday’s sadness. I said I wouldn’t do that.
Let me try again.
Here I am, writing about you. Writing for you. Writing so you know how I feel. Through our distance you’ll never know the impact you had on my life. I’ve gotten over you, met other people, but sometimes I want to share these stories with you. I know you’ll like them. You’ll laugh with me while I stumble through my day as excitement tries to race the words coming out my mouth.
I’m happy for you in whatever you’re doing. I’m sure you’re working hard and you deserve it.
I’m a lover before a fighter.
And you are love.
At your best, you are love.