Wednesday, June 20, 2012

am i still just a coward

vice head airport man love blog leaving wishing photo
ph: Vice


Calling you by name feels odd. I think I did it just once, the first time we spoke on the phone, after that we always called each other 'sweetie'. That and all the nicknames I gave you, one sillier than the other, but you loved them all. We spent a lot of time mailing, then chatting online, then on the phone. I think my favorite was 'you' when you heard it was me on the line, saying “hey you”, with that perfect pitch and all the happiness behind, happy that it was me.

I never got to meet your parents but they sure hated me, or at least disliked me very much. They just saw me as 'the big bad foreigner' that was going to take their precious little daughter away, and in the end they made you break up with me. You were crying and telling me that you love me and all you wanted was me, but our relationship had to end. Like the stupid coward I am, I just went “Okay”. I tried to comfort you by telling you how much you deserved happiness and someone so much better than me.

That was years ago, now you have all that, and he's not me. So who will comfort me? I don't want comforting, I just want you. Why can't I be happy for you? Am I so petty that I can't allow you to be happy without feeling sorry for myself?

I set myself up for pain and misery. I decided the bathroom needed to be cheerier, more colorful and bought a shower curtain with colored dots. While in the shower I realized they remind me of you, that time you passed a skittle from your mouth to mine with a kiss and a giggle. One time, that's all it took and it's one of the cutest, most romantic things I've ever experienced. Every where I look, every thing I see or hear reminds me of you. A stuffed toy, colorful candy, a smile showing teeth and gum, you had the perfect amount of gum.

I had your picture in a frame in a desk drawer. Every time I'd be looking for something and open that drawer, your smiling face would meet me and I'd freeze. Cursing myself, I'd close the drawer, just to do the same thing again next time.

Several times I've been angling, asking if you're happy and you always say you are. You must have noticed it. You're too smart not to.

I wanted to blame your parents but now I know my own cowardice is to blame. I wanted to blame faith for putting us on opposite sides of the Atlantic but we are masters of our own faiths. If I had chosen You instead of choosing not to choose, today would be different.

If you'd let me love you again I'd drop everything to be with you. I'd walk into my boss's office tomorrow and quit, and when he asks why, I'd say “for love”. I'd take a job cleaning toilets or whatever, it would all be worth it if I could be with you.

Funny thing is, I Did get a second chance. Right after we broke up, you had a thing with a guy. But he cheated on you not long into the relationship. You wrote about it on your facebook, feeling betrayed, and all I could think of was to ask if it was me. Why didn't I just step in and go for it? Third chance? I highly doubt there will be one.

I want to go back in time, have a friendly chat with my younger self just before that day we were over. I'd kick him hard in the nuts, repeatedly. Standing over the prone body I'd say “Oh you think that hurts? Lemme tell you about My last few years...”

I'm afraid. Afraid that no one will ever feel for me like you did, or that no one can ever live up to you. Afraid that what I'm feeling now is not love for you, just pity for myself. Afraid of that telling you all this might hurt what you have today, and you'd hate me for it. Afraid of that you wouldn't care or be bothered by it. I don't know which one scares me the most. No, I do know what I'm most afraid of. I just don't want to admit it to myself.

So here I am, anonymously posting my letter to you on a blog. Is it that I care about your feelings, or am I still just a coward?

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry I was such a coward that I didn't fight for us.

I'm sorry I can't feel happy for your happiness.

I'm sorry for being 'that guy', mailing and seeking contact when you're busy being truly happy with your man.

I miss you.

I love you.
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