I have to write about you first.

November 11th, 2017 § 0 comments


Tomorrow will be two weeks since you ended things. You ended things poorly. At least, that’s not how I would have done it. It was the first time I’ve ever seen you cry. You lay with me for a while and when you left I screamed “no” over and over and over again, so loud I thought my throat would tear open. I cried for days. But that’s how everyone does it, right? We all say: “I cried for days.” By the fourth day I was hiking alone, astonished, repeating: “I have the remarkable capacity to heal.” It’s true. I can heal, I am strong. I have a community that loves me in ways I could never love myself. And yet, I feel lost, I feel empty. I try to make conversation and my lips have only your name.

At first, I thought that I would never be able to trust anyone again. That might still be true. And still, I find myself cultivating trust for you. I do trust that you did what is in your best interest. Things are different with this heartbreak. For one, I still love myself. I feel proud of almost all of my actions. I’m being transparent about how much this hurts. And you are not a villain. All of those talks we had, us and our community, about queer break ups, they set a precedent. I did not ask anyone to hate you or reject you.

One week to the day and I still thought we might get back together. I met you at your place and immediately you said that we were broken up, you needed to be clear about that. That’s when I cried again. I gave you a letter I had written, a letter that I had to go to fedex to print. It outlined the ways we could be together, to heal together, to set boundaries together. I thought we were still in this together. Perhaps in a way we are.

My phone feels empty without you. My email feels empty without you. My mind does not feel equipped to understand how to go from constant communication to nothing. No good morning text, no goodnight moon. I don’t know what you ate today or who you saw or what work you didn’t accomplish or what amazing ways you stood up for yourself and others. You were the person I trusted beyond all others, in ways I never thought possible. I opened up more and more of myself. And still. I know that I was enough. But I still wasn’t enough.

That day, one week later, we lay together, I felt your hand run along my back. My ribs craved you, my mouth craved you, my cunt craved you. I felt you crave me in a way that I had almost forgotten. I remember a few weeks after we had gotten together, you didn’t seem excited to be with me. I told you this and you said that hurt to hear. I was enough and I wasn’t, even then. I know what it’s like to feel bottomless, to fill and fill and fill and still be empty. How long have you been this way?

You had me on my back, naked, except for my boots. You said: if you ever feel like you’re not sexy, remember this moment. That night when you hugged me goodbye, we were all glittered and masked. You said you love me, I said I love you.

How long until we stop being in love? Maybe you’re there already. This breaks my heart, all over again. You are like water through my fingers. The moment I fill up on you is when I start losing you.

Two weeks to the day. Every memory I have brings me to you. You are etched into every road, every building, every corner of my house. The only way I know how to forget you is to retrace every step without you, over and over, until you are a faint line. You are not a ghost, you can’t be forgotten. I am retracing and you are tracing all new lines. It’s just that they are being carved without me.

I think back to those days when we kissed and the whole world was still ours to build. Two weeks ago.

Those days—two weeks ago.


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