Dear You,
I talk to people who saw us as impossibly perfect. But truthfully, we were perfectly impossible. We expected too much out of each other, and neither of us could meet it. I was draining myself trying to stay high for you, so I didn’t bring you low—you had so much on your plate. You were the man of your house; your mom expected so much of you. It wasn’t fair.
But I expected too much of you too. For that, I am so sorry. It was during our trip that I realized how patient you were. And how much you just wanted to love and be loved. I just didn’t know how to do that yet, so I had to leave you to love you. I wanted to love you. But a week away from the expectations surrounding us, weighing down on us and killing us allowed me to find my libido again and love you sexually, after an entire year of nothing. My heart beat with yours again. That’s when I knew this crazy idea of mine would work. However, I had to hurt you. And that felt like someone took a rusted, broken spoon and scooped my guts out from inside of me—because hurting you, hurts me. Always has, always will.
So, I grow. I grow and change and better myself. I am more confident and I love myself and I communicate better. I know what I want, what I need, and what I have to do to pursue my goals. You are my goal. Our future is my goal.
See you soon.
In three.