For years, every time I used to think about you, I had but one fantasy: for you to see me walking down the street, for us to meet at a random party or in a club. I’ve envisioned a total coincidence in which, just like the very first time, we would lock eyes in the crowd. There would be no more music.
In my dream, I’d be perfectly happy, smiling, radiant just like a shampoo ad, and you’d be drooling, miserably realizing what you lost.
I desperately wanted you to hate yourself for not being the man that could make me happy. For knowing that whatever you have tried, it was always too little, too late. For finally realizing that I was right, all those years ago.
All these petty thoughts were just sitting in an immature and evil corner of my mind that managed to escape all the upgrades I so skillfully performed on myself.
Of course, life took it upon itself to show me that things never go according to plan and that I still have a lot of growing up to do, before I get to call myself the kind and mature person I thought I was.
That’s precisely why, every time I saw you, there was an unwashed and completely disastrous bun on the top of my head, the kind you never admit you sport at least once per week. When I saw you the other day, I was devouring a banana like it was the first ever had and so, I decided to have a Genghis Chan approach towards it. Once, I was barely saved by humongous dark circles – if it hadn’t been for them, I’m sure you would have jumped me. One simply cannot resist such beauty!
The plan in which I was this diva that had powers over you and that you’d always regret letting go, failed terribly. It took me some time to figure out why. Of course, I turned to a list and ultimately realized I was pinning for the wrong stuff. Our meet cute never happened, but so many other things did.
So, I realized that:
We never did have: all the trips we so carefully planned in our heads. Our dream house. The dogs we mentioned a thousand times. Endless cuddles in the morning. Those movies we put off for when we’ll have more time. The jobs we’ve envisioned. The wedding we anxiously heartfully talked about. The promises that made so much sense. The ending we deserved. The maturity we longed for.
We’ll forever have: that perfect summer. The houses we now live in. The pets, kids, joys of today. Rushed mornings. Different movies we love to watch. The jobs for which we worked. The changes we looked for. The reality we earned. The maturity we never thought we’d reach.
This being said, for you, my ex, I have a newly found wish: I don’t want you to see the best version of me, but the greatest version of yourself, everyday. Knowing that I’ll never gather enough courage to deal with the past, I’ll leave my thoughts here and hope they’ll blissfully find you on their own.
I hope you are going to always be the wonderful human being I saw in you even in our hardest moments. Or the phenomenal guy that inspires everyone else to raise their standards and do better.
I hope to see you grow into the amazing dad that so many school essays hymns are going to praise about.
I expect you’re going to become the husband that never stops fighting for the one he loves.
I wish you the courage to live your life as your heart desires and to always listen to that inner poet, hunter, soldier or skillful crazy woman whisperer that I know inhabits your soul. As I’m more convinced that we’re on borrowed time here, I pray you never have to deny yourself any joy on this Earth. The fact that we shared a meal and drank from the same cup is part of a bigger plan. “Our random” love still has its magic.
There is nothing more to say. It’s just love
If I loved you then, rest assured that somewhere inside of me, our story remains untouched. When I want to feel young again, I go back to it. And, whether I’ll see you on the street or in my head, I know that all I have for you is love.
