Six months ago you told me that you wished someone would write as passionately and beautifully about you as I write. You said you’d keel over and literally die.
Those were your exact words. I know, because I saved that conversation. Now it’s been six months, and here I am. Here we are. My poetry, my stories, my thoughts… they’re all about you. Nothing and no one else is in my head. You got exactly what you wished for, and yet, I’m not making you as happy as I wished I would.
I don’t know if you’re reading this, or if you’ve read my previous pieces. I have no way of finding out. But I wish with all my heart that you are because never before have I written with such unfiltered honesty as I’m writing to you right now. I need you to know, I need you to see. I need you to listen… I need you to believe.
When we parted I made you promise me you’d be okay. I realize that was selfish of me. I know you’ve tried, and I appreciate it, but I also know that you are not okay now. And it kills me. I know I promised you I’d be fine as well, but I can’t help but break down when I find out that I’m causing you so much pain.
And it hurts me even more when I see why you’re breaking yourself up. You think you caused this, you think you’re the source of my pain. If anything, you’re the only thing that’s sweetening the blow for me.
I don’t blame you. I don’t blame you for a single thing. And I wish you’d stop too. Do you really believe it’s your fault? Do you really believe that I believe so? Because if it was true and you really did think so, I’d wanna slap you now.
All you did was love me. That was all I asked and all I ever really wanted. What came our way couldn’t have been controlled by neither you nor I. I want you to stop believing you had anything to do with it or that you’ve in any way hurt me. Because what you really did was build me up from the nothing I always was.
What you really did was bring happiness into the lifeless strain of hazy days that was my life.
What you really did was open up the damaged and dusty piece of equipment that I used to call my heart to the beautiful soul that is your own.
What you really did was love me.
You love me, therefore I’m alive.
© Copyright 7ala Abdullah