ph: Kaupo Rõivasepp
In a couple of days, six months has passed since the first day I met you.
Six months. Half a year.
If the feeling I had then were real, you would’ve been lying here next to me right now. You would’ve been sleeping on your belly and your black, wild hair – with a texture I would’ve recognized amongst a thousand others – would’ve been a beautiful contrast against the white background. The sunlight would’ve hit your bare back and shown the lines of muscles, playing beneath your skin as you changed your position in your sleep. Carefully I would’ve placed my fingertips on your ribs and on the scar I happened to give you. I have almost forgotten what it looks like. You would’ve awake and make a sigh of delight, just like you did every morning when I scratched your back or your arms, or pulled my finger through your hair. You loved it. You would’ve opened your eyes and stare right through me with your gaze. Those bright, green and almost unlikely beautiful eyes are one thing I’ll never forget. And you would’ve smile when you saw me – you always fired away an almost boyish smile which made my heart skip thirteen beats. Then you would’ve pulled me close to you, been giving me a kiss and say “good morning, beautiful” before you would’ve lay down on my chest and rip your arms around me. And you shouldn’t have let me go.
I was completely blown away by you – how you stepped in and took my breath away. At one point I actually dared to believe that it had happened – I was now in the middle of that kind of love you read about in books. I have never been as happy as I was under that short period of time when I had you by my side.
You were perfect and everything I had ever dreamt of. Half a day after meeting you I had a consistent flow of butterflies in my stomach due to the knowledge of your existence. It didn’t matter that I was on the edge of my final exams, that it was a horrible, ice cold winter or that I had spent the last couple of months healing my wounds from a relationship that didn’t truly exist. You became my key, my warm summer and you fixed me up like a world leading surgeon. I awoke with a smile on my face that nothing could sweep away – I became indestructible. I could’ve never guessed that you would become that one thing that ever has managed to destroy me completely.
When friends and family began to say that something was wrong, I turned away. Yes, maybe you were broken, but we would make it together, you and me. I would be the one that fixed you, the one that finally made you understand what you’re worth. But that never happened – if so, this text would’ve never been written. Instead, an unsustainable and destructive relationship took place. I never knew what came from you, from the alcohol or from your disease. I awoke every morning, not knowing who I was to you that day. I don’t know how many times we broke up just to get back with each other – none of us could or wanted to be without the other. You nailed it one time when you wrote that “we are like two junkies who are getting relapses every other day”. But now it’s no longer you and me. We are stronger then the desire for more. I haven’t seen you since the end of April. I haven’t had you in my arms or kissed you since the end of March. And it doesn’t get better. I don’t miss you any less. I don’t think less of you. I haven’t stopped hoping. I still take detours to see you, to in any way make sure that you are okay. I think you are. But I’m not. Life in general is amazing – school’s out, I have loads of fun going on, I have wonderful friends and family that makes me so proud. But the fact that I don’t have you makes everything else less worth. Right now it feels like I can’t be genuinely happy if I either gets you, or gets over you.
Some days I’m glad that I met you; that I actually had the chance to feel what I felt. Those days I’m not sad, I don’t cry, and there is no aching in my chest that refuses to let go. I know that I’m young and that there will be others. But you were my first and I don’t believe that I’ll ever get over you. I do believe that I’ll only accept the fact that you’re no longer in my life – but I’ll never be neutral against that thought. It doesn’t matter that you’re ill, that you don’t want me or that you made me just as sad as happy – you’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever had. The scar I gave you eventually stopped hurting and healed and then left a deformed and destroyed part of your skin. That’s exactly what will happen to my heart. One part will always belong to you. One part will remain as a scar, that don’t necessarily ache all the time, but will stay destroyed forever.
You’re still the one that pops up in my mind as soon as anything or nothing at all happens. When I’m lying here in my bed, alone and tired, you’re the one I want beside me. To watch Pewdiepie together, eat takeout food, talk about everything and then fall asleep with you right behind me. When I jumped, danced and screamed like the happiest idiot on earth at Summerburst a week ago, it was you I would’ve wanted beside me, that you were the one I shared that experience with. But you are gone. I don’t share anything with you anymore. I have no idea what you are doing, how everything went, if you like it, your dreams, plans and visions for the nearest future. And maybe that’s good. I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.
Writing this is yet another try for me to heal. Just like you, I heal and deal with everything that happens to me by writing it down. All I want for now is to get my bleeding, open wound to turn into that scar. I’m standing at the very same place I did that night we said goodbye for the very last time, and I feel that it’s time to take care of this. I still got so many unanswered questions, I’ve been analyzing everything we said and done, I still dream about you and is still hoping that you will turn up and acknowledge that everything was a mistake. But I’m smarter than that. One part of me knows that it never will happen. It isn’t my job to fix you. I now realize that the instant moment I told myself that I would be the one fixing you… That is the moment I turned myself and my own worth down. You have to fix yourself. And when that day comes, when I see you with a woman that will have you in the way I wanted you, I will break one last time. And after that, it’s my turn to be happy.
