to love for the hope of it all

for a.b.s., i’m not sure i want you to read it though my love. i don’t want you to think of me as a bad person.

it’s 2 am. i’m in bed but my mind is elsewhere. my mind is on the freckle under your left shoulder blade on your back, and whether or not you’ve slept enough recently. my mind is on if you’ve gotten a chance to talk about your grief while also managing everyone else’s, and whether you’ve thought of me at all.

i find myself torn between being understanding and being selfish, even if just for show. i understand why we’ve not spoken this week; that doesn’t change that i wish we had. doesn’t change that i wish that even when things are difficult for you, i’m on your mind. i don’t know if this week has proved that i’m not, or that even if i am you have difficulty reaching out; but i don’t think it makes a difference.

it doesn’t even really make a difference if you texted her in south korea more often than you texted me, because the reality maintains that we barely spoke. i both do and don’t have a right to feel the way i do. maybe a right to feel it but not to share it – i haven’t decided yet.

i don’t even know how you feel at the moment. i don’t know if you’re grieving or just worried about getting back to work (although, i do know of course because i know you. do you know me?).

this feels like a good space to share feelings that i probably won’t express to you. people tell me i should be angry. people tell me that this should be the final line in the story of us. i’m not angry. i just wish you would feel comfortable being yourself with me. i love you.

i’m not saying that i’m in love with you.

i’m not sure i know what that feels like, really. nor do i plan on unpacking that all right now. i don’t think i really know as much as i like to think i do. i just know i care about you; and i want you to care about me as well.

i know you do. but i wish you’d find a way to do it in a way that feels real for both of us. your ‘own special way’ only matters if the message you’re trying to get across reaches me.

[the song message in a bottle by the police popped into my head earlier while writing this post and has been stuck in my head since]

i’m just a little upset. i’m worried about you. i miss you. i hope i’m on your mind.

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while simultaneously feeling these things, i also feel guilty for not being able to table my insecurities and anxieties for your sake. is that what people are supposed to do? i hate myself for not being able to give you space to process what you need to alone. i hate that i can’t be what you ‘want’ me to be. i hate that you find it so difficult to stay in touch and update me. do i not cross your mind at all?

i’ve been sleep deprived this week busying my brain with worries about how you are, and trying to deal with my seemingly endless internal dialogue (this doesn’t even cover part of it unfortunately). i think i just needed to vent, in a way that doesn’t involve me hearing that i should let you go, because i still really don’t want to. i’m sorry if that’s what you want from me. the thought that you do really upsets me. i’m terrified that after getting to know me so well, you’ve decided you don’t like what you see. that’s why i don’t usually let people in like i have you. maybe i shouldn’t have.

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goodnight ariana, get some rest. it always does you a world of good. i love you.