It started with the tears. My lonely nights often do. I was thinking earlier about your grandparents house. How you always told me it was beautiful. How you wanted to take me there. You talked about us escaping. Just driving down for the weekend. I pictured it in my head a million times. Safely tucked away in my box of "somedays". But we'll never take that trip now. I'll never see that house. The excitement in your voice still resinating in my head. I feel like I let down a dream.
In my head it was summer. We were drunk in Nate's back room. Somehow left alone together. I knew the words were coming. I knew they shouldn't, but I wanted them. I asked you to go, I feigned fighting them off, but I prayed you'd stay, that they'd escape.
I told you about how I'd spent the last six months missing you.
About how I tried to drink you away.
About how the first guy I slept with after you I don't remember, because I was too drunk to know what was going on.
They tell me technically it was rape, but I can't put that word on it. I can't. It's just too hard.
I woke up the next morning, realized what had happened, and walked home, numb.
I cried in a dark shower realizing that even if I wanted you back, I'd ruined it.
I was tainted,
disgusting.
No amount of hot water could wash it away.
You'd never want me.
If you knew what I'd done you'd probably never even want to look at me again.
I couldn't bare the thought of having let you down.
I told you about how I missed holding your hand, and your cuddles. Missed the way being in your arms made me feel safe.
How much I wished to cry into those arms, you soothingly whisepring into my ears how much you loved me, kissing my nose, telling me I was good enough, I was safe
- like that night before you left for college, the time before our lives changed.
How it contrasts with crying to myself in a world of solitary uncertainty.
I talked, and you listened. And we went on like that.
It was quiet for a while. There was no comforting, no consoling; just a comfortable silence; a peace. You knew. That's all I want - for you to know. For me to remain to you a person, rather than some distant memory. Or even just for me to remain in your memory at all - a girl that you loved. For you to understand why I've done what I have, rather than what gossip you've heard on the street. For you to not look at me in the way I pictured that morning I cried to myself in the shower. For you to not think of me as another crazy, slutty ex-girlfriend. I just want to tell you. I just want you to know.
The worst part is that while I cry myself to sleep with conversation that will never happen, there is no rest. My eyelids hold only unshakable images of you resting peacfully in her arms. No amount of scalding water will ever wash away my guilt.
I never meant to let you down.
Another sleepless night spent writing words you'll never read.
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